Poem 3, June 3 Driving from Rice Subdivision Wind from the southwest strips white blooms from Bradford Pears that line the street.
Like large snowflakes in February, they create a blizzard & fall, covering grass in white.
I remember two winters in a row when I lay on frozen ground, ratting the sewer line.
I hear my father’s voice talking about men freezing to death in the Battle of the Belgium Bulge.
At the stop sign while I wait, I close my eyes. The warmth of your skin
when I massaged your shoulders & your neck excites me… The driver behind me honks–my eyes open.
The poem should have posted like the one below:
Poem 3, June 3
Driving from Rice Subdivision
Wind from the southwest
strips white blooms from Bradford Pears
that line the street.
Like large snowflakes in February,
they create a blizzard & fall,
covering grass in white.
I remember two winters in a row
when I lay on frozen ground,
ratting the sewer line.
I hear my father’s voice
talking about men freezing to death
in the Battle of the Belgium Bulge.
At the stop sign while I wait,
I close my eyes.
The warmth of your skin
when I massaged your shoulders
& your neck excites me…
The driver behind me honks–my eyes open.
Complex poem told well! Good to read your poems again, Rudy.
thanks so much Allison. I am enjoying reading as many posts as I can each day.
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