Monday, January 3, 2011

a touch of the warden

i live next to a middle school field
i hear the coach ordering kids around
reprimanding them mostly
it's sad that their young thin
legs run over green spring grass
in such a regimented fashion
the coach barks more directions
his whistle is annoying and obnoxious
there is something so different in the way
a child blows a whistle and the way
an adult does
one sounds erratic and chain-less
and the other ordered and tethered
there's more than a touch of warden
in the chambers of the adult heart
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.