Nonverbals

He walked up and said
“I’m not much to look at”
with his slouched shoulders
and furtive glance
into their rolling eyed shoulder shrug
which combined
“we’re not either” with
“we’d still rather be talking
to each other
than you.”

A couple parries
attempted to repair
the inelegant entrance
but he was interrupting
more than he’d first known
so he blew

or fell outside,
a Jenga tower
with the wrong piece removed
so near the base
he might as well be
sawn off at the ankles.

As he dropped he thought
he recognized a recess bell
and the faint outline
of hopscotch boxes
on the sidewalk.

===
For Open Link Night 123

I’d Chance a Fin Before a Fist

A fish in murky depths
tickles Ptolemy’s ear.
Being marble,
Ptolemy doesn’t twitch.

He keeps his dignity,
considering he lost his base
and wound up on his back
at the bottom of the sea.

One of a tide of fifteen Ptolemys,
which he is remains unclear,
his cartouche partly covered
by an acorn barnacle.

Today Ptolemy’s being raised
by ropes and block and tackle
onto a barge, then carted
to a museum

where he’ll remain
a respected has been
until our world is bathed
again in anarchy.

He’ll maintain impassive calm
even when shattered
along his every vein
by the roaring mob.

——

This is for dVerse Open Link Night. Still not sure about the title, or anything else.

A Slice of Rain

Rain slashes
paper thin
diagonal scars
across his face.

A torrent
stabs, tears
through clothing.

He walks
past the far field
and the skin is gone.

Half way to town
he’ll dissolve
along a fence row,
not sorry
to have missed
the IGA and MotoMart.

Yet the autumn trees
are beautiful.
He smiles and hangs on.

They too
know the kerf of the blade.

Stirred by wind,
they balance,
surprised at the moment
they stand
when everything is lost.

===

For @dVersePoets open link night.

Refresh

Dusk drinks down
October rain,
autumn color,
the road ahead

which shortens
to a halogen halo
seen through the slap
of windshield wipers.

Follow the staccato pulse
of the yellow center line.
Tunnel through night.
Reach home

to snug beneath a blanket
and dream daylight
until it pours the world
back around the house

as if we never traveled in darkness,
as if nothing were ever lost.
===

For @dVersePoets Open Link Night.

Driving it Home

Alone, driving down a country road
close to what was home, I hear my mother’s voice.
I see her hand point to each farmhouse and lane.

She tells me who lived where when she was a girl.
But all I hear are general tones,
because the words have gone.

Farm fields stretch on like urban blight inner city blocks
strained to their breaking. Two miles to the next corner.
Right, then five miles more. Turn upon turn of absence.
The bleached white bones of loss lie scattered, unclaimed.

The car rattles up its lane to the familiar cedar shingled frame.
Park inside the old shed, it’s soul wrapped in metal.
Dad drove every nail. The barn, the shop
all in dust and disarray of the last days
which lasted for years.

I walk in the house, set the keys on the table.
No need to say I’m home for the ghosts all know,
glide around in whispers.

Open the fridge, pour a glass of milk.
Ten leftover containers seethe with curdled discontent.
Shut the door.

Sit for hours
and watch the faces on the walls
drift back deeper.