Poems
by R. Gerry
Fabian
Adoption Papers
I sit on her porch
listening to
the past painted
in scattered shades
in black and white.
If I wasn’t there
she would talk
with herself
as at
her age, new friends
are hard to come by.
She is currently
unable to pay her taxes
and nothing
she has ever done
makes it her fault.
Bitterness gives way
to bewilderment.
“It isn’t that I’m
so damn old,
more
because I’m an orphan
just sitting around
waiting for Death
to adopt me.”
Waiting For Cats And Dogs So To Speak
I seem to be a bystander
in the moment of my own drought.
I cannot get the motivation together
to do much more than stare
off into my own cloudless sky
and make idle rain plans
which I truly plan to do nothing about.
My own listlessness rivals
the worst hit crops
of the Dust Bowl days.
My personal farm
needs immediate weeding.
Now is the time to do it
before rain further encourages
the mischievous thistles.
I am aware that the superstition
of wanting rain, only keeps it away.
Also, I know that when I least expect it
the clouds will come.
In keeping with this current trend
I'll hold out a little longer.
As for the name and number
of the Apache rainmaker
that is magnetized
to my refrigerator door,
even last resorts
are a simple hedge
against the unknown.
Miscalculated Misunderstanding
I am late.
The coastal fog sweeps
over the cliffs and into the forest.
Now, the dirt stone trail
becomes a perilous pathway.
Each step is measured
like that of a high wire artist.
I look for your boat
but all I can see are
fuzzy light dots.
I know the dock is
somewhere below the haze.
I need to get there before
you have tied up and gone
as she will not be there.
