Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Poem from SGVPQ 40

Jack Bowman


Road signs worn away
moan as they blow in the wind
nothing decipherable
even the post is twisted

there is a sharp pain
he gets at times like these
above the left temple
an ache emerges in each leg
then his back strains,
loses power
an old Buick on the fritz

he walks the desolate roads of his life
remembers the chances he had
to do something different
shakes his head, sighs
there are some things
you never see coming

until they run you over.

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