Everyone in Elkhorn was asleep,
and all the gas stations closed.
"Under the Milky Way"
poured out of the LTD's
speakers,
and no one spoke.
No cancer in Paul's bones yet.
No dead fathers.
No decisions made that could not be undone.
Fast-forward through
"Gardening at Night"
and settle into
"Love Comes Tumbling."
The summer air
feels that way
through open windows
only when you're young, and
the darkness of the road ahead
signifies
only the
fact of night.
Oh, I don't know. We'll see.
*
About Me
- kev99sl
- Middle-aged, pipe-smoking idiot who used to think "adventure" meant smoking Cuban cigars and catching out on freight trains from his boyhood home of Riverdale, Illinois. (Now understands that true challenge lies in trying to explain to two [now three; can it really be three?] hell-raising little boys how Darth Vader is both a good-guy and a bad-guy in the context of Christ's grace.)
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2012
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April
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- Locks
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- Near A Mountain
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- What I Am Not Paid to Do
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- I'd Need a Dictionary
- The World and the Earth
- Persistence
- Weaponry
- Conversations About the Treachery of Polar Bears
- Dreams That Are Not Dreams
- Questions
- Untitled
- Hotshot
- And With My Rural Pen I Stained the Water Clear
- East Troy
- Minutes
- Near
- Sleeping In
- Good Friday
- Fences
- The Right Things Right
- Reasons
- The Ways
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April
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3 comments:
East Troy
I made a mistake
But it was never that simple
I wanted it to be
I wanted to be left alone
Life of the party
Loved and forgotten (that was our deal)
Going home alone
To sleep in darkened corners
Driving in shadow
Seeing only lights from passing cars
Voices from the back seat
Deer standing by the roadside
Empty towns in the rearview
Alone at last, but never really alone
Something gnawing at me
Telling me to run
"With Or Without You" on the jukebox
"Spanish Eyes" always came after
But none of it mattered
Chrome bells in the air
A day felt like a week
But never long enough
That awful ache
Knowing the end was near
And it came too soon
It always did
The end of summer
No more pretending
Not sure it mattered
Memory pulled down with age and time
The decay of my wings
The bones of my youth
And now I remember quiet promises
Made in whispers before sleep
Prayers for a hope and a future
And know I can never go back
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing Jeff.
thanks for writing these poems... i miss you both. jim peru
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