Fountain Pen
By Joe Dickinson
This weakness
Like luck, like fireflies,
Has not subsided,
Sits in my stomach,
In my bones,
Wrapped around my heart –
I cannot escape it.
Cool wind, you blow so free!
Blow upon me,
I beg of you.
My knees are scraped
From the gravel.
What’s a holiday for no one?
Nothing scares me more
Than a large group of people
(holding flags).
I’m shaking –
Boredom, stupidity –
Seeping and creeping,
Snakes that see a little mouse
All alone –
Wedding bells,
Immediate relevancy.
Copyright 2007 Joe Dickinson