Monster

Staring into the future as if to see something misunderstood, possibly hope – probably not. The resting baby on her shoulder waits, her two boys still wait.

“Nothing changes through the one-way window. Growing stubble, anchored tight crows feet guarding steel blue eyes, his sun baked skin doesn’t even sweat” was scribbled on the old police report, now exposed for granddaughters not met to read.

The assumed word Monster now appears on his face above Husband, Dad and Grandpa.

***

 

I always learn something when I cross my favorite bridge, this time it was for a “Faces” writing workshop taught by Matt Love September 16th 2017.

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Summer’d

Tired eyes awaken anyway to stare

through coffee steam  Blended lines

turned by the sun overlap as if stickers on an edgy club wall

 

Torn stubs fall

from an overbooked calendar pausing

to be glanced at like posters once stapled to a pole

 

Sore feet crush grass burnt brown and bleached

in time

 

Fresh wrinkles appear like scars

on a machine built for speed— traded for a moment

 

Photos pile

waiting to be reflected on and laced into history

 

Energy spent, bartered and consumed

in the season of the sun  Leave one Summer’d