original poems by a young author
I am filled up with this town, as
smoldering fires are beating at the brick
black as day, yet
the color of trying to reminisce is
a startling white.
you see an abandoned lot where the restaurant burned down without notice (because that’s such a mystery)
and the weeds grow from the cracks in quilts
thundering each time a new inkling moves a nano meter, and
like muck weed,
dirty flowers stare at my knees.
on the other side of town,
some no-do-good-er has just carved the name
into the naked fiber board
of a broken basketball hoop
while stowing away in an old truck junker,
forgetting he was never being seen.
(now, take this daisy, and
you try to carve Susanah there.)
It’ll serve you good to know that
I’ve seen worse luck
than a broken flower petal
begging a stray knife
to stop cutting at the stem.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry