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Tyler Kelley Nov 2010
A kid with a deflated red balloon
peeks over the booth
at Village Inn
at three in the morning.

His second-hand
Power Ranger
hand-me-down t-shirt
features a ten-year old
grape juice
stain.

His eyes -
bloodshot and heavy
with the weight
of dependent parents -
meet mine.

His hands -
calloused
like a thirty-year old
construction worker's -
grip the balloon
with white knuckles.

he asks:
"May I please borrow your ketchup?”

I oblige
and hand him the bottle.

He thanks me,
hands it to his father,
and returns to his french fries.
What do you think?
Tyler Kelley Nov 2010
I ran into a
wall cloud. (I think
I broke it open.)

A funnel fell
from the bottom
upon a farmhouse
in Oklahoma

spread across
an open field -
a mile wide

swallowing the
pasture in one
gulp -

and tossed golf
***** from the top.
(Like snow in August)

There were
no
survivors.
Tyler Kelley Nov 2010
Justice has exhausted her empathy
and is content with apathy for the time being
because contempt makes one resent senses.

She could choose dissent, or ascend
to the throne of lethargy.
Either way, no more empathy.

Justice is cloaked in ambiguity
and resents attempts to set her free
because she just wants to be.
Tyler Kelley Nov 2010
[Life]

I
A man with no shoes
walks by with a limp.

His arms -
covered
in tattoos
and scars -
are lethargic
by choice.

The biting
winter sun
delivers respite
from late December
northerlies.

He reeks of Franzia.
Redolent, it shadows
him, haunts
him like what he drinks
to forget.

His unkempt white beard
is stained yellow
around the mouth
from years of cigarettes
and no-shave Novembers.

He dons a jacket
- faded glory -
that is two sizes too small
and his pants stay together
like a couple for their kids.

Too proud to join
the Salvation Army
on Christmas Eve,
he finds his bench,
lies down

and survives
one
more
night.

II
A man in a suit
drives home in an Audi.

His collar
is stained
with cheap lipstick
and Chateau Lagrange
from last night's
late night meetings.

Angie, his wife,
waits anxiously
at the door
of their four bedroom,
three and a half bath
Victorian.

Her eyes -
still puffy
and red -
fixated up Swann St.
She is not blinking
and barely breathing.

The kids
have been sent to Grandma's
for the night.

They watch TV -
SpongeBob SquarePants.

The Audi
drives by a man on a bench
He looks asleep -
possibly dead.

The suit inside thinks to himself:
“That poor man.”
What do you think?

— The End —