Tuesday, October 20, 2015

And there it is

He looked down at the blood dripping from his fingers onto the wet tarmac. A voice said, somewhere, ...and there it is.

There was a quiet approval in those words he had longed to hear again for weeks now, but he couldn't quite remember why or who the voice belonged to. He remembered the face he saw at his feet though. He remembered the blue dress and the soft breasts.

As if a large hand was put on his shoulders, the hazy warmth of the drugs rolled over him again.

You did alright, son, the voice said and then all other memories faded.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Another love song

but go out in the hasty silence
of the town that rains

for now
to be a witness to the beat of time

a child
will answer echoes in the concrete underpass

as her mother
waits the rain out in the blue mist of her phone

ride on
past the cemetery and the soccer fields

ride on
when a roebuck leaps across the road

bridging the canal
out into the fields where distant sunlight

like a pall over the far edge of the land

is held
by wind and water in a thousand hands

it never stops
this time but the rain does

and there is nowhere
to hide

(edited 26052015)

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Saturday, November 1, 2014

A Parlay With The Lord

Now, y'all know 'bout Mirko, right? Called him Butch, most of the time. Boy used to rent a room right there, above Ms. Rosy's general store. Did his drinkin' like it ain't wasn't nobody's business Butch did, but gentle too, you know? Never hurt a fly. Could've if he wanted to, though. Big guy. Arms like this. Came back from the war and never was quite right again, boy used to come down to church e'rry Sundy and cry like a baby when Pastor Brown'd go on all 'bout Hell and sinnin' and repentin' in the face of the Lord. Think Old Butch knew more 'bout hell than the preacherman ever did, though. Came a Sundy Butch shot hisself in the head two times. Wanted a parlay with the Lord so bad, doughboy had the wherewhital to squeeze the trigger twice, you know? Yeah, wasn't much 'bout Hell old Butch didn't know 'bout, I reckon. Think on that a bit now. Think on that a good long while before y'all go callin' to bomb Bhagdad or Iraq or some faraway forrin place like that. Ain't no such thing as takin' a war over there, that some poor boy ain't gonna bring right back over here.