Tuesday, November 26, 2013
When Gregory Played His Flute
When Gregory played his flute
Plastic seated them
But the serenade of the woodwind
Lulled them to the waters
Where they cannot drink
Without muddy knees.
That’s the way men go to pain
Much has come from simple mud
Jesus in dust spat
And a man could see.
Good dirt and water. Seeds.
Earth is our much-favored planet
There is no end.
Light follows light
Sprouts always go up
When the breath of the flute
Awakens spring on the earth
One more time.
Grady Bennett Myers, Jr.
April 24, 2003
More Likely: The Man
More likely the man is
and isn't a statistic.
The scene: A man of indeterminate age sits
at his Formica table. We might
call his stare: vacant.
The time: isn’t important, there’s
a November fog and dark moves
seamlessly from night to day
and back. Besides, if he isn’t at work, he’s
just as likely: sitting like this, 2 a.m. or noon.
Specifically: he’s thinking: about her, the wife
who bailed with the kid. Is it a year now?
Next: his father already
a suicide at his age.
He feels: poor, a month behind on rent.
His car needs: insert list here.
She: most likely thought him a loser.
Just as likely: Vietnam/Iraq/Afghanistan drove her away:
the nightmares, the gun under his pillow.
At the table, this particular man
more than likely: has a beer in his hand, on
any given night or day,
more than likely: remote
nearby. Because he’s not black,
he’s less than likely: to have been in prison.
Because he’s not a woman
he’s less than likely: to complain of depression.
He’s lucky that way.