VAGRANTS

 

They were characters in a play

 never meant to be that way,

­­confused by reality,

 and consumed

 by the roles they play

 when the play is over

 they remain

held within 

a wire cage

like feral 

vagrants

lingering 

on an 

empty 

stage.

 

V 

Rest Now

 

 

Rest assured 

 

you’ll never sleep 

 

what you sew 

 

you’ll never reap 

 

darkness falls 

 

and out you seep

 

dreams desert you,

 

you come too cheap­­­.

 

 

 

 

V

BITTER SWEET

 

 

 

 

The desire to approach, but withdrawn with fear, 

one falls into a lonely, safe, and painful place,

so dark, and yet so clear

V

pelican

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gray sky lingers

Well into day

Before sun’s

fingers

Dispatch the haze

 

Offshore it drifts

 dissipates
and
fades away

 

Basking now in

blossoming rays

Even flow the ripples

Shimmer in the bay

All Small specks

A long horizon away

 

When…

 

Trailing south 
on a shoreline breeze

O’er the slap of lapping waves

A precise platoon of pelican

So perfect the Parade

Skim the water

And save the day

 

 V

 

 

 

 

Menphis notel

•  
   
  

  
   
  V
   

WILLARD WAS AN OUTLAW

    

    
 

  

Willard was an outlaw but not a good one. He felt Banks were his specialty, but he failed to rob one because of his ineptitude, so he focused on convenience stores and drive-thru’s which was not nearly so profitable but offered him some measure of safety. He thought one day he would graduate, but for now, he was content to strike for less and await his big payday. Then one cold and windy night he entered a twenty-four-hour minimart and found himself alone with the owner who deftly placed a revolver on the counter as he saw Willard enter. Willard, taken aback said “I just want chips, man. No trouble.” Willard sized up the situation and knew if he went for his pocketed pistol the owner could get the drop on him and probably blast him before he could retaliate, so went about the store collecting items but noticed the man monitoring his every move on the closed-circuit video while leaning on the counter with his hand just inches away from the gun. So, Willard proceeded to shop randomly while continuing to look for an opening, but the owner grew leery of Willard’s dalliance and placed his hand on the weapon while watching every image. By this point Willard had amassed a sizeable armload of goods and made his way back to the counter. He realized he had rendered himself defenseless by the sheer volume of his goods. Placing the goods on the counter with a thud, Willard pretended to reach for his wallet while the owner moved to the cash register on his right. It was at this point that Willard felt he had his ‘opening’ and attempted to draw his weapon, but it unexpectedly snagged in the lining of his heavy jacket pocket. The owner, alert to Willard’s abrupt movement, quickly re-secured his gun. Willard, aware he had lost his opportunity left the pistol in his pocket without displaying it and tipping his hand, then continued to pat himself down as if searching for his wallet. Finally, he reached into his rear pocket and carefully withdrew the wallet before displaying it to the owner. The owner placed the gun on the lip of the cash register and proceeded to ring Willard up. This was the impasse Willard dreaded as he had limited funds available but watched as the register added up a sizeable sum. Totaling the amount the owner stated, “Thirty-six, eighty-two.” Willard pulled out his last two twenties and reluctantly handed them over. The owner inserted the bills into the register and handed him the receipt. “Can I get a bag?” Willard requested, and as the owner bent under the counter Willard made his move, but the owner still had his weapon in hand, and blasted off three quick shots which caught Willard by surprise as he realized he’d been hit and stumbled away towards the exit before collapsing in the open doorway, newly wedged by the crumbled body, succumbed to his wounds. 

Willard was an outlaw but not a very good one.     

 

V

 

 

OLD WOOD

 

 

 

Each day 

empties its load

on a tired soul 

that “can’t-take-it-no-more”

what once, was play,

now is a chore

the grind…

the innings…

and finally,

the score.

 

the threadbare uni

you once wore

hangs on your bones

 like an open sore

Once your glory,

Torn to rags …

Tattered, patched,

And filled with pangs.

the battered old cleats

now worn down

in that wicked game,

longtime gone.

 

arm shot

back broke

no muscle left

to make it a race

now the stadium, 

an empty place

and you old wood

have been 

chopped away

 

What confronts you

Constrains you …

Contains you

Nags you

and finally

defeats you

 

Sunset on the ball-field

Where you once a slaved

the chalk lines 

now faded away

and youth with pepper

now take your place­. 

 

tomorrow ends here,

…here, today.

 

 

 

V