Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.

Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.

It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.

Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.

Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.

So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.

What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.

The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.

No one saw.

Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.

You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.

She kept staring at the full moon
Her friend, confidant, fixation
Regretfully, I learn later, her escape
I kept talking in eerie silence
And keeping company to no effect
She like a bird tethered in a cage
I remember that night
Solemn the scar
Fourteen years hence
We were parked along a beach in Hawaii
Paradise one would think
Man and wife
Gazing in the opposite direction
I learn later our lasting vacation
Somewhere in the distance
Happy palm trees dance to the music of the waves
Whitecaps accentuate the moonshine of the night sea
Statues of tall mountains stand sentry
Separated by a treeline
Rolling hills, bare picket fences
And a defining moment
In the darkness and contrast
In·con·gru·ous
I see a few horses approaching our view, us
No doubt curious
My wife jests, as her eyes, depart the moon
Her reverie, her prayer pause
As the inside of the car shrivels
My heart braces
Her words, one by one
Denouncement at its finest
As she looks back at the horses, then me
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
She says this over and over
For my effect
Her eyes glassy
Her voice but a whisper
Steel, still
Drawing the horses nearer
Where soon their eyes
And noses peek through the fences of gloom
Big and brown,
Neighing
She begins to tear
Again
Sad and red
Real childlike
Her past begins to flash
Where she says something to the effect
That she once worked the corner of 42nd steet
In San Francisco
A bombshell went off
The horses sank in their seats
Lava spewed from my head
Mount Robertson in ashes
No votive candles could save her
Or us
Her angels on her shoulder
Lost to her rescue
Only albatrosses
Sinking
Sinking, us
Again in reverie
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
On and on
"I once worked the corner of 42nd Street
In San Francisco"
Her words, again, like ice
Melting
Reverberating in my mind
Where did I go wrong, I thought
Melancholy on the rocks
That night a man
And a moon cried
The sublimity of her message
The pantomime
The mock of steel
The planted seeds
The turning point
I can only gaze at the rolling hills
Now with two horses hoofing it back to safety
The darkness
The lost rebuttal and love
Her full moon
So prophetic
My teary eyes and mind could only wander
Past the happy palm trees
To the pieces of the puzzle
"You don't love me any more"
Deeply, I dug, wanting to find the answers
As her eyes and fingers quickly curled my lips
My insides a mess
She blows out my candle
Takes away the shovel
I knew
She knew
No words needed to be expressed
Only these
"Even the poppies are in love
They're so stable"
Soon it seamed,
Seemed
Stitches of our love ripped apart
That car that was once parked along the beach
Paradise searching
Now more suited for a funeral procession
As we  bereave the aloha attire, hotel, vacation and then the airport
As two ships departed in bereavement
Rudderless, without sails
Our port becoming a pretense
The living room couch soon my refuge
Saturated with my tears
Faithfulness and honor
Her bi-polarity worsening
Sadly
Truly
I didn't know at the time
If only I had known
Had some understanding
The winds at war
Of what was in her harbor
More of the anchors of doom
Holding her down
The barnacles, erosions of her mind
I could have helped
I will always remember that night
Fourteen years hence
Two horses short of being stable
And the battles in my mind
The tears
The waning days and months
Where the seasons and time felt lost
A year later,
A morning dawn
Mourned
I looked into her vacant eyes
The stillness
She was finally at peace
No longer tethered or caged
There was a full moon the night before

Logan Robertson

3/04/2019

Grabbing shadows in the hole like alley way
I say
Where is the light you promised to show?
All i can see is my sillouette
Parking itself beneath the moons sigil glow
In the kitchen the size of a cabin Robust figures scramble around to service you
Grabbing Handfuls of bread to make a feast for immortality.

Shadows in the steet lights they crash and slam into eachother
scrambling to see  to it that their own lives are protected...
From who?
Just you?
The one who said feast on this and become what you see in me?
No longer can you be trusted benevolent and respectless...
So bring forth your evil and rain down your sludge
in the alley I'm grabbing footprints that lead to hospitality
Im stabbing peasants drinking essence from the stained blood that i touch
Now it seems so exact
Now i see..While dancing in this carnivorous place where i can see the moon
I've brought upon myself a strain a darkness we call doom
The sludge that you rain down covered in limbs bloodied from mastication
Is what we see in you...
A meaningless intolerance a public scream from excess bliss a carnage from the blue abyss
An alley way
The cavernous

Buzzing drinks, this purple sky
shrink around the orange street lights.
You told me once, it might be nice
          to know what the look
          of a winning hand looked like.

Cliched sighs were my reply.
Kept me from at least two lies.
Lines of Alaise, I'm swinging blind.
I'll play your best cue as it lies.

               Sing something sweet to me
               Raise your brown eyes to meet our city.
               My blue ones always sink;
               when the chorus kicks in
                    you look so pretty.

               I know you're not right for me.
               And, baby, I'm no good for anybody.
               But at least we share some needs
and the midnight view from the bridge on Orange Steet.

Stumbling steps and shaky laughs
and creasing lines in clasping hands.
I told you once I'd take a chance
          to see the sly curve
          of your wine-soaked shy glance

Buzzing signs, citrus street lights
Let's fall in love with urban blight.
Our voices loud, we're walking blind.
So here's my best play, one last time.

               Sing something sweet to me.
               Close my blue eyes--I love this city.
               Your brown eyes sing to me.
               We're the chorus now, babe--
                    you're bright, but I'm witty.

               Know it's been a ******* week.
               And I know I'm no good for anybody.
               But let's still our shaking knees
    and kiss a new year on the bridge on Orange Street.

I had just left the library
and was 20 minutes early for the bus
I decided to pull a Sobe
and a roast beef sandwich
out of my back pack
it was the first of May
but it was cold as hell
my fingers were numb
I would take a bite of the sandwich
take a drink of the Sobe
then set them down
and warm up my fingers
this guy came walking by
with a skinny little black dog
the dog looked like it was starving
and looked like it had been beaten
she came right up to me to say hello
I bit off a piece of the sandwich
and offered it to the dog
she gobbled it up happily
but the guy was ******
"you can't be feeding my dog" he said
I told him that somebody needed to feed the dog
because he obviously wasn't
"the dog should be taken away
and you should be jailed for neglect and abuse"
he got right up in my face
and started spitting obscenities
I got right back in his face
held out my chin and pointed to it
"go ahead, take it out on me
and leave the dog alone tonight"
he uttered a few more choice words
and backed off
he walked away jerking at the poor dog
as I watched him walk away
I noticed a sign posted on a pole
I had to walk into the steet to see it
It said, MISSING DOG
and there in the photo
was I think the same dog I had just met
it said her name was Bella
and she was a Chow Chow
she was probably 20 pounds heavier
and looked happier in the photo
she had been missing since March 22nd
it also said she was sick and needed medication
I didn't know what to think
was it the same dog?
was the man she was with neglecting her?
or was it the previous owners?
I decided to call the number and left a message
saying where i saw her
and what direction she was headed
and I left a description of the man
suddenly I didn't notice that my fingers were frozen
I don't know where Bella is tonight
but I hope she has a warm bed
a decent meal
her medication
and a loving companion

pulled into the grocery store
turned around and locked the door
started walking the other way
went ten blocks down the steet
simply just following my feet
memories in my mind on replay

got up this morning, made the bed
felt the vessel in my head
Snap! and I started to sway

took over an hour to simply dress
even the mirror screamed at the mess
flipped the image as I do each day

found myself standing in a soup kitchen
everybody lined up, just *******'
shrug my shoulders, had something to eat

locked the house, started the car
I knew I couldn't drive so far
the grocery store was where I was beat

So ten blocks down from my abandoned car
I don't know if I've come too far
to make sure I'm no longer a burden

The ticking time bomb in my brain
finally activated making me insane
Hope I was far enough away to stop myself from hurting them.

The randomness of rain
as it splashes on worn shoes and frayed  collars.
Wet in Lewisham the streets awash
with promises of  heartache.
A wind without a name,
commences a distant roar of thunder.
The Police siren follows a path
beating down to the Silent Whisperer
a man with no grace
to a steet arcade
outlasting redevelopment
His fists clenched
as to show his anger to the world beyond.

Time Traveler

on my wall is a calendar.
this month it is an october scene
with a new england village tucked in a
brilliant gold, crimson, and russet autumn
interspersed with white pines and a white church
among tranquil houses.
the village is silent from this distance,
but it is not a far walk.

when we descend the hills
these kind folk tell about the joys and struggles
of their lives.
close up
i have been coveting the dodge pickup truck
parked off the corner from the bookstore.
i can hear mrs. emmons in the red house with the tin roof
tell me of her husband’s hard drinking habits.
her neighbor, mrs. parker,  in the white 18th century home
will complain that her son eloped with the minister’s daughter,
and the couple that live on bennington steet
are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary on the day
i turn the calendar to november 1st.
unfortunately, i will miss the occasion.
the people of the village do not seem to take notice of me,
I am just another traveler passing through
like so many others.
the woodcutters are laying up their store for winter,
carefree children are preparing for halloween,
the teenage boys and girls are busy with homecoming plans,
and dads and sons and daughters are carving jack o’ lanterns.
on porches on this clear sunlit day.
i pass my days at the top of the hill
reading, grading papers,
and gazing as far in the distance
as my angle permits.

i have spent nearly a month here
and must leave on the 31st of october.
i must turn another page in my life.
in november i am heading to cape hatteras
and fish for a month
with the man near the lighthouse
who has cast his line into the surf.


ms/’10