April First

April First short poem

Photo by y i v a

The thief helped the blind man up his front steps
caressed his elbow and asked about lucky numbers and
did he dream about more than one thing – was there
smell and touch and sound, how could he tell
if he were dreaming about our world or another?

the beaten boy sings a song even when silent
syllables following in inevitable order as the tendons
in his throat dance. you’d know the song, everyone
has heard it but you never knew who the owner was
being this boy who polishes its light every day.

here is the bartender harassing the florist
about the freshness of his geraniums and the smudges
on the cut glass vases he has arrayed for sale behind
the chipped Formica counter. give me something
I’ve never had before, the bartender says then laughs.

come midnight all the calendars on all the computers
changed at once to become a sacred day and the proper rites
were conducted, delivered over the phone
and every place the written word is inscribed. those who
died are saints: who will believe their lives ended that way?

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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