Jagged
Patrick T. Reardon
The shoeless guy sleeping on the
McDonald’s bench along the north
windows is the god of still waters.
The unfocused one, rocking over
his Egg McMuffin, was once the
mayor of Akron, now el-riding
through the cold night, sneaking
rest in the blank before the morning
rush. The wraith they call Husk is a
laughing fool, devious and deceitful.
Denmark Jones was born of an oak,
saw first light from the inside of a
green stone. His eyes, of iron, as if
in a window dress model, as if in a
garden statue. He ponders the offer
of the one who can’t stand still,
selling steaks he stole from the
super mercado dumpster.
Denmark was named for the old
word “denk” which is to say “pain.”
He enters the ivory gate each night
to jagged dreams.
Patrick T. Reardon
7.17.26
This poem originally appeared in SoFloPoJo #41, May, 2026.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.