See him still. Rear-view mirror stuff.
A three wheeler flier, a leg dangler,
he ducked when the Great
Horned Owl swooped.
Lord of the dirt road, meeting
life on its terms, he helped Dirty
Ray and Old Glenn collect bottles
from the corners of the night.
Sandwiches, cups of coffee.
A church. Oh yes, his church!
Nowhere to nowhere,
he owned that strip.
(A drugged-out boy, dead
behind eyes, walked that
road waiting for the lord’s
hello. Big browns beaming
back non-judgment, it came.)
That church was an open air
Cathedral, a road where
boy-in-a-hurry paused
long enough to bless
strangers into friends.
Thought he might break
a wing there one day,
speeding on trike with
friend. But it was in the
downtown one night
that strangers heard
the crash that makes
no sound in nightmares.
Maybe they’ll pave
that freakin’ strip.
Author Bio:
Frank is a retired psychiatrist who has utilized his many years of working with individuals to comment on the incredible experience of being human. His prose and poetry, then, arise both from his own experiences and those of others. He is always grateful when an effort stimulates thought or strikes an emotional chord with a reader. Over the last nine years, more than 120 pieces have appeared online and/or in print. Credits include: Lalitamba, The Penwood Review, Modern Haiku, Visions with Voices, vox poetica, The Whirlwind Review, Indigo Rising and The Aurorean.
A three wheeler flier, a leg dangler,
he ducked when the Great
Horned Owl swooped.
Lord of the dirt road, meeting
life on its terms, he helped Dirty
Ray and Old Glenn collect bottles
from the corners of the night.
Sandwiches, cups of coffee.
A church. Oh yes, his church!
Nowhere to nowhere,
he owned that strip.
(A drugged-out boy, dead
behind eyes, walked that
road waiting for the lord’s
hello. Big browns beaming
back non-judgment, it came.)
That church was an open air
Cathedral, a road where
boy-in-a-hurry paused
long enough to bless
strangers into friends.
Thought he might break
a wing there one day,
speeding on trike with
friend. But it was in the
downtown one night
that strangers heard
the crash that makes
no sound in nightmares.
Maybe they’ll pave
that freakin’ strip.
Author Bio:
Frank is a retired psychiatrist who has utilized his many years of working with individuals to comment on the incredible experience of being human. His prose and poetry, then, arise both from his own experiences and those of others. He is always grateful when an effort stimulates thought or strikes an emotional chord with a reader. Over the last nine years, more than 120 pieces have appeared online and/or in print. Credits include: Lalitamba, The Penwood Review, Modern Haiku, Visions with Voices, vox poetica, The Whirlwind Review, Indigo Rising and The Aurorean.
RSS Feed