A CAR ON THE SOUTH SIDE
Working my way backwards,
it begins with a few shards of window glass
missed by the cleanup crew,
and then there’s the blood-soaked car
being towed away
with just a couple of curious kids
for an audience
followed by a dissipating crowd
and a couple of EMT folks
bearing off two bodies on stretchers,
as the mob look onand cops stand by
which leads to sirens approaching
from all directions
and people rushing out of their apartments
trailed by the gunshots that,
this time, are way too close
and finally, two more guys
in another car,
rolling up their windows,
stowing their hot-muzzled weapons
in their belts,
leaving the scene of the crime
just before they arrive
revolvers raised and ready.
A SUMMER SOLO
A hot summer morning
reminds me of how shuttered I am
in this stuffy room,
as sunlight stretches in bars
across the floor
but leaves the bed in darkness.
On a day made for going outside,
staying in
is the ultimate in loneliness.
The ones already in their cars,
and headed for the beach
get where they are without thinking.
But I am caged by my imagination,
taken prisoner by a willful head
and a vulnerable heart.
I am the perfect candidate
for seeing this day to its end
without speaking to another soul.
From an early age.
I’ve been resigned to being
a stranger in a world of strangers,
with a feeling that friendship
is no more pretense,
and company is just an opportunity
to speak to somebody
who is not listening.
Yes, I’ve been kissed.
I’ve been hugged.
It made me wonder who was doing it.
And why.
Even who they were doing it to.
ALONE
There is a solitude in this world.
It is called a dying man.
And it exists as a counterpoint to the living
who are gathered by the bed.
There is a loneliness of mattress,
sheets, pillow and blanket.
It is a floating ship
in which he is the only passenger.
And there’s an inevitability
that shields him from all human contact.
It’s a train, abandoned by all but him,
that is on course for a tunnel.
Even the mourners
succumb to sorrow’s isolation..
They came in together.
Now each of them is with no one.
HOW WE MET
Petal fallen from a flower
moves on its own,
is changed,
attaches to me,
so I too can feel
part of its blossom.
Now sun has set,
the rules of light
no longer apply,
yet it is the part of me
that is not dark,
curls up.
trembles a little,
but if I let it loosen,
it grips tight to me
all the more.
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