Prick of the Spindle: Poetry: Yelle: Rust

Rust
By Gerald Yelle

Puddles and shiners
line the street where you
trade your car for kisses
in the morning and sob
in the evening when your
lover won’t stay in bed:
a low moan the light is
slow to cover. If she hears
she’ll leave and nothing
can stop her from hearing:
Distant traffic. Crows
and doves. A wood thrush
insecurity. A 60 cycle
hum, some tinnitus from
standing close to a
megaphone. The sound
of ink and breathing:
Guitars squeak and cut
some difficult maneuvers.
They ship and handle
physical bodies while
other physical bodies play
the melody steadily.

Gerald Yelle worked for a small company and for a big one as factory worker, computer operator, and customer service representative. Now he teaches high school English. He has published poems most recently in Silkworm, decomP and The Pedestal. He is a member of the Florence (MA) Poets Society. Notes, comments and links can be found at geraldyelle.blogspot.com.