John Grey ...................... three poems

ON A MOUNTAIN ROAD, YOU’RE DRIVING, I’M WATCHING

As I immerse myself

in the scenery,

you grip tight

to the steering wheel,

concentrate on winding

with the winding road,

not against it.

What do I care

if there’s a deep ravine

on one side,

a towering cliff on the other.

I’m part of the mountains.

You’re maneuvering

the turns, the twists,

of the one part

of this spectacular landscape

that is indisputably human.

My reverie

takes me to the very top

of the highest peak.

Your close attention

has you where you are

at any given moment.

That last thing you want

is for is to both go over the side.

That’d be a thousand feet drop for you.

Six thousand for me.

GALE

An indifferent waking,

she invokes a comedy,

her thumb-twiddle

taking on great importance,

her twisted mouth

more for balance than effect.

And then out pop her toes

from the end of the sheets,

flaked with red paint,

wiggling like piglets

sucking on the teats of the morning.

 

Her arms stretch wide

as lungs retrieve some of the oxygen

gone missing in the night,

then knuckles rub eyes

so vision can move forward.

She lifts herself up on her elbows,

swings legs around,

touches the floor gingerly

like dipping feet in cold water.

Seated side-saddle on the bed,

this is her first portrait sitting

for the day.

Sun warms to the task.

Light is eager to begin.

First, a masterpiece.

Then coffee.

TRASH ON THE SIDEWALK

The battered rusty truck stops.

Old furniture left out on a sidewalk

is loaded onto the back.

Maybe a table with one misshapen leg.

Or a television that needs a thump on the side

to get a picture.

Or a bookcase that’s missing a shelf.

Someone inside the house

glimpses a broken chair being lifted

and they may see the hands

but never the face

of the one taking it.

And the guy doing that lifting

can see something move in the window

out of the corner of his eye

but he turns his head away.

It’s enough they know that

their trash is being taken away.

No need for them to see the one

for whom all this is treasure.

The truck drives off.

The sidewalk is clear.

The castoffs will go

to make his apartment more livable.

The family is relieved

that the junk is off their hands.

He’s anonymous

until his truck gets it to its destination.