Monday, April 13, 2015

Barn Poem

Can you hear the rain
tap on the tin shingles?
The night's black like a
burnt hole in the couch
from my mother's dropped
drunken cigarette

dendritic lighting splits
the sky and flashes light
through the transom while
cows shiver off midges

We play chess under
the warm yellow bulb
and you check your watch
for how long we have
‘til your phone rings

I see the halo tan line of
your once-loved pride as
you move your rook to d5

Outside, in view through the open hatch,
the sand vines climb the paint-chipped siding
above the overflowing gutters of our house

spider web cracks on the
black Ford Focus you
bought her two years back
with a sparkling grin and a
mouthful of promises

Even with the drops of rain
and murmurs of thunder,
we hear the irate screams
from the upstairs bedroom

You place your hand
on your mouth as if
covering a yawn as
you ponder your next move

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