By: Richard LeDue

Wordless

A grey sky says it all
without a single word,
even if it leaves me
searching for a way
to express sadness that isn’t heavy
as lead, while his cancer diagnosis
sinks in- my mind listening to the silence
that sounds a lot like the calm
before rain drops
spatter like pretend happy thoughts,
only for me to grind my teeth
underneath a practised smile
without realizing it,
while wondering what kind of metaphor
could help me most
look up, when what’s below
thunders,
chasing lightning it’ll never catch.

###

After Reading a Really Good Poem

It’s the feeling that I can’t do
better, which makes me
kick up dust on a page
instead of being contented
by a dusty shelf afterlife,
so I guess I’m booting at the air,
while the well read poets have maggots
kissing their toes, unless they were cremated,
then they’re a detour for worms,
who could have sworn the apple tree closer,
pretending their wrong turn the right way
(a lie I’ve told more than once too),
but most of us are too busy looking up
to accept we have a lot in common
with what’s beneath the ground.

###

How Sweet It Is

Let’s make this cake a metaphor:
icing white as snow
on goodbye mornings
or unexpected knocking door nights,
and small talk (between sensible bites)
a frozen pond we always wait too long on
for fear of thin ice,
each step as dangerous as words
about summer vacations and investment plans,
only to half finish,
dumping the remains when no one is looking,
while remembering a months old doctor lecture
on sugars and the importance of walking,
even if our footprints always fill back in.