Two from across the pond

Lonely Spirit

While collecting souls, 

I stumbled upon the bones of an old friend. 

We lost touch during the hurricane, 

when the wind was blowing, 

and rain beat against the window. 

The lights flickered then failed. 

I left to buy whiskey and a blanket 

to keep us warm.

When I returned, it was dark. 

The door on the porch was ajar 

and he was gone. 

How his bones came to lie in the desert, 

I do not know. I may never know.

But I drank that bottle alone,

wet and tired.

-

Midwest Mud

The mud seems almost fresh,
but the footprints fossilized

over a frozen winter, exposed

by ebbing snow.

They were likely left
by settlers moving south, seeking
steady work somewhere in Texas,

where oil has yet to run dry, where
dreams have yet to die, where
mud is still soft and squishy.

-

"Lonely Spirit" and "Midwest Mud" are included in issue 13 of Turbulence Poetry, a British poetry magazine established in 2009 and based in Hull, East Yorkshire, England. To obtain a copy of issue 13 or a subscription to Turbulence, visit the "Buying Turbulence" page. 

This is my first overseas publishing credit!

Eric