Chet

It was common
For him to sit on top of cars
And wait for days
While all sorts of things
Passed him by
Unnoticed

A Child's Book Of Rules

Winter slipped into town
Mostly unnoticed.

Schoolyards filled and emptied,
Like tidal pools of wet wool.

Late in the year a child disappeared
And some time that day was found.

A building caught fire, a blizzard
Tucked everyone away for weeks.

The town’s lonely bus sputtered
Empty through watchful streets.

When it snows the world slows enough
To notice the odd angles of things.

Like crooked smiles of deer and the way
Your fields condescend in their refusal to grow.

... And She Was

the type of casual girl who looked at most people the same way, but not everyone and not everyone caught the look, even if given. You know the type? The sweetness in the eyes, sly and knowing but not manipulative or backwards. A kind of look that makes you freeze in thought, stumble in step. She pressed the change from the coffee firmly into my palm and her thumb grazed my wrist in total innocence, but the look followed me out the door. Somethings are more raw experiences because of the people in them. Sometimes memories serve you poorly. Sometimes there’s not much but a dry wind and misleading sunlight. Sometimes our metaphors are distant and cruel.

Geraard was sure that, once he opened the trash bin, the universe might reveal itself at the bottom -- a crumpled Walmart bag, a discarded TV set frame, a used paperback and a collection of complaint letters from a tenant to his landlord.