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Ira Desmond
Poems
Apr 2017
Two Recurring Dreams
I:
In which
I
amid the
whirring lights
and emerald
felt
drift
through a
raucous
flashing casino
searching
for a
table
with an open
chair
so I can
finally start
to play
the game
II:
In which all of us
are together again at last
for a family gatheringβ
Thanksgiving supper, perhapsβ
and, as we greet each other,
I happen to glance skyward,
unthinking,
and notice that clouds
of a turbid
cumulonimbus gray
are beginning to coalesce overhead.
I look up again and notice
that they have spun
into dozens of funnel shapes,
each of them
starting to reach down for us
like the ashen fingers of Death.
We huddle down in the cellar,
praying the storm will pass.
#death
#dreams
#family
#storms
#money
#gambling
#jobs
#tornadoes
#casinos
Written by
Ira Desmond
41/M/Bay Area
(41/M/Bay Area)
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