Blue-Back Special


A seagull clawed the rippled menu, and
decided on the blue-back shad;
a delicious delight of silvery scales,
terrified eyes, and a last gulp of air.

60

Echoes in the ashes,

flutter from my ears and nose.

Memories, gasping for crystal air,

flee the grasp of a stumbling tongue.

Niggling ghosts of nothing,

naked in a fading sun.

Deep Fried Puddle

A frozen puddle
reminded me of a chicken thigh
lightly dusted with flour,
waiting on a deep dive
in roiling oil.

I thought about
stepping on the metaphor
but, decided not;
soon enough
it’d be cold broth
for a rising, hungry sun.

Hint Of Humidity

I zipped my zipper
in a cold Spring wind
(I’m sure you understand why).

Nature doesn’t have call waiting, or
a button to place on hold.

I checked for tracks
on the landscape of my legs,
no trace of the legacy of age.