They buried him this day
And tomorrow was in the past
~ ~ ~
Pastime
At least he is one will know the dawn
Unlike hapless dreamers retire ere come the moon.
He serves up another helping of his baseball
While Jane slumbers, worn tested of the day.
Him solitary posts indifferent sentry to her dreams,
Restless, yearning, weighs was it her intended,
Or would the night stay longer if ’twas Mary first
He held ‘midst golden daisies bloomed in meadow’s lush?
~ ~ ~
Rocker
She took her comfort there
and gave it to her own
when lightning-streaked howling winds
on moonless nights
roared in to steal their sleep.
~ ~ ~
Murky
The avenue beats a discordant symphony.
Street lamps circle dim around the moths.
Terriers strut tethered taut to widows’ wrists.
Teamsters haul their loads up to the docks.
Far off sirens race beneath an ash-filled sky.
Jane packs up her empty can and pleading signs,
Warms her suckling daughter at her breast
And wheels her stroller to the bridge.
~ ~ ~