Issue Twenty-Five - Winter 2015

The Long Way

By John Grey

I go home the long way,
via the muse, the roses,
the curly numbers on the letter boxes.

By the lush green park,
poems come in fours.

I harvest the slate-blue eyes
of a passing woman.
I corral what a man must be thinking
to gnash his teeth like that.

Squirrel, you’re no longer a recluse
in your stalwart pine.
You’re parked beside the noisy blue-jay
in a thought, in a diary, in a code,
in a word.

Even the old couple on the bench
aren’t immune from my dawdling journey.

You are the gray-haired strophe.
You are the arthritic antistrophe.
You are the epode,
fingers enfolded,
lines still gripping.

Copyright 2015 Gray

©2007-2017 SHARK REEF :: All works © by their respective Authors :: Like us on Facebook

WordPress Theme by Cloud Islands ::