Poetry—

Winter By The Flag Pole

The turkey’s wishbone has dried on the windowsill

A last leaf flutters with a life boat wish of growing green again

all his friends have been raked from the dying grass

like a mortician combing the thin hairs on the old man’s head

The year’s first snowflakes have swerved to avoid your outstretched tongue

as your hands close around last year’s was of Kleenex and loose buttons in your winter coat

The Rooster swivels to the warm south longing to join the Canada geese as they stop off in

Ram’s pasture.

Soon to sleep under the cracked comforter of snow and ice on a shady hillside

which below lies the promise of spring

and mouse paths among the matted grass

Spring will discover the forgotten tool rusting by the garden wall

and the soggy paper cups and “lite” beer cans that dot the sides of the road

as hairy wines of poison push red shoots

to catch the early walkers in the woods.

—Paul Stevens Lux

©2005