New Stuff

Posted

Voyeurism from The Edge of A Black and Yellow
Coleman Folding Chair While Drinking Coffee at 10 a.m.

A broken pool table sits in the nearby
recreation room shattered by sledgehammers 
a foot long and heart-heavy. 
Tiki torches burn on like Johnny 
Cash's desire to meet Jesus.

Country and boat-borne trash in bags
sit in front lakeside next to
a detached and prone screen door
unhinged and half wide open.

Birds sing sweetly along as the karaoke 
CD player talks about rambling, gambling,
being right and ragged.

The camp counselors might awake 
any minute to eat, smoke, blow
fireworks and their days and
nights for another span of hours
and merest moments.

A speedboat goes trawling by, outboard
and fish-bound (if His selection of lures
and skies are a fit). Chances are
the leader-bearded fish, five-strung
strummed and Bishop-ordained, may
appear in his mitre and Southern
drawl. Maybe he'll be quiet;
perhaps he'll raise up his hook
and line: quilt-building a
geography and biography together,
aligned and divergent enough to 
let 'em in close enough to see
if that light stays on whenever
the door gets closed.

Citronella isn't needed at the amphitheatre
for most, but the popcorn butter
is too much to take right out of the tub.
Yet nothing sticks and it doesn't have to.