By: J.K. Durick

Meteor Shower

Sometimes they come
streaking down on me
like that meteor shower,
they promised us last night.
It’s easy to picture, but hard to watch.
Words, some whole some fractured,
phrases and sentence fragments,
pieces of half remembered quotations
all raining down,
and there I am trying to catch some,
as many as I can.
I try to get them down, organize them,
get them to say something worth saying.
I imagine it all out, a regular performance
I mistook for creativity
at one point in my life.
But now all there is, is this old guy
mistaking this personal meteor shower
of leftovers as something important
something for some reason he keeps
going back to
as if there is something there.

Things come apart so easily

They hit the floor, are smashed
And we’re left with only pieces
To pick up, avoid, and step around.
Broken is broken. It’s that simple.
The thing we had, we treasured
But now it’s gone, a memory at
Best, something we’ll talk about
Now in the past tense. Perhaps
We’ll mention it with a fondness
We probably didn’t know it had
Earned over the years. Perhaps
We’ll try to replace it, get one just
Like it or just resembles it a bit.
Now it’s just a piece of our past
Back there with so many other things
Things that suffered a similar fate.
There must be a heaven for all those
Things we liked, we loved. They are
All off some place outside of what
We have in hand. They are gathering
And waiting for us to fall to pieces
And join them in the fanciful heaven
For all the broken things we thought
We loved.

Junk Mail

With no mailman
There will be
No mail again today.
He comes by
Once or twice
A week now
As if he’s doing
Us a favor.
But honestly
We never get anything
Worth his effort
Or ours for that matter
Junk mail mostly
Ads and charities
Looking for more.
Gave to one
And our name got out
So they all try
Their luck a few times
A month
Send us calendars
And return address labels
Like they know
We’ll need to put on
The envelope
With a large check in.