By Carl Kaucher

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[ Read more and find this book here. ]

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2

The serene summer haze

plays a dream upon the day

simmering as I sit

skimming the news,

the moaning world blues

amidst withering clover

in dried brown grass

that gets worked over by bees

and no one goes beyond.

 

Shreds of grass midst shards of glass

collect in windblown corners

at the edge of a park bench

indicating stillness.

Gnats descend and

Bizzzzz…

as humidity salivates

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into drops clinging

desperate upon leaves

that the succulent trees

wave a dew.

As I, being unable to sit longer

take up my pen and paper

and roll thunder.

At 11:00, the world hum

grinds slowly

at the edge of imagination

and though late

it still might be possible

for new laughter.

 

 

Once, I was a lone figure

sitting on the curb

at 3rd and Court Streets

outside the inter-city bus terminal

in a faded black and white

photograph, cracked.

You could barely discern

my anemic, daguerreotype

smile, smudged

with personal history.