a poem in my pocket

emptied of family and

furnishings except for

an ornate pool table

with matching chairs

in basement; listen —

sounds of billiard balls

clacking against each

other, stripes vs. solids.

ghostly echos of former

husband vs. wife, each

of different pattern, who

clacked loudly to break;

left single family home

for two separate shelters.

as new occupant peels

off wall-lettering upstairs:

“bless this home with love

and laughter,” she wonders

about — the children.

Laura Bloomsbury hosts dVerse poetics tonight with “house” theme…

(original version of quadrille edited for IPA reading)

saturday nights
Dad took us to
stock car races
we held our breath
at figure-8’s,
and cracked
sunflower seeds
till our lips numbed

vacation stop at
Indianapolis for
Indy racetrack tour:
our family waited at
famous light tower
for bus driver to
announce,“Gentlemen,
start your engines!”

brother collected
Hot Wheels, we
raced loop-de-loop
but Mom was relieved
when he did not
put spoiler on first car
or follow dream of
Nascar driving career

“The isolated Model T truck bears the weight and pride of a hundred years of rust, becoming prairie art and sentinel.” 

– quote and photo by Glenn Buttkus at South Sound Minimalist Photos

cousin billy jo’s family
left kansas in dust bowl;
packed worldly possessions
headed to californ-I-ay
to live under a palm tree
but truck broke down in dry
gulch county of colorado;
abandoned it right there
hiked to nearby town
where billy jo’s daddy
found work in a mine;
rusted dreams sift sand,
no palm tree for miles.