Poems October 2018

I think I know what I must do
he said
to himself
who listened
To the whispers of the heart
punch clock
leave at 5
drive home

I know he keeps things in a box
locked
and he swallows down the key

Let it die
Let it die

Waterfronts in decaying industrial areas
Hint at promises that will not be kept

Rusting machinery enjoying a view
Side streets with
Art Deco buildings and chop shops
Can’t see anyone but you’re sure they’re smoking
And all the dogs are skinny sad things

Climb a hill?
A hill the rich seldom come down
Into a neighborhood in which you always feel lost
And find your way out without ever finding your way in

Later on
The sun sinks into un-swimmable water
A skinny sad dog gives you a cigarette
licks your hand
A breeze kicks up and makes the rusting machinery sing