Bus Ride Home
For the past three days, they've drained the pond beyond the failed guard rail.
A bowl of mud, with a few deep footprints leading to and from shore,
as if left by those not ready for this world or some who couldn't take it anymore.
Every last fish to survive the crash, dead on the edge of that great
emptying. What those eyes must have seen through windows:
a school of impotent hands swimming wildly
into glass; the horrible faces of epiphany, as lungs refused
liquid breath; the hope- less thrashing, twitching . . . eventual un-mov-ing
end. For the past three nights they've drained the sky, searched the stars. |
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© 2007 prickofthespindle.com |
Lafayette Wattles has been a factory worker, a banker, a jeweler; he's sold women's shoes, has been a Production Assistant on a film crew, and has also been a teacher. He has five college degrees, most of which have proven useless, although he's hoping his most recent, an MFA in Creative Writing from Spalding University, will change that once and for all. Lafayette has won a few regional poetry contests and has had his work published in several journals, most recently or forthcoming in Blood Lotus, Shit Creek Review, Runes , and The Louisville Review.
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