Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2016
This is the story of my daddy's sad rations, his mad reasons he left in the basement there, I found out directly, direct reasons for no other keepsake; no hallmark memories he tossed off left bottles broken in the bottom of a brown box in the bottom of the brown sun-burnt grass in the backyard where green onions grow in a big brown box outweigh the grass--they stand upright, strong & solid like ledgers--solid as baseball diamonds mingling in the summer heat cast shadows over the tired yard where children play--they yell and fall down over each other weakly, strongly, pathetically, unknowingly, hypnotic marvels in their silence, in their stupor, in their bliss imaginings, I am a child too far gone--too far off watching, I regard them as a stone villain, as a requisite somebody made of vinyl pinwheels, as a time-sprung witness to the watching world, the undone mechanisms spiral dignity. I was solid. I was solid. I was venturing a minute's glance at pity. I was lost in an eternity of forgetting. I was hung on lines too high to hold me. I was hauled out of a torn envelope in the fire pit, reassembled, reasoned to be dead forgotten.
Joseph Martinez
Written by
Joseph Martinez  Detroit
(Detroit)   
468
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems