Out of the blue
By Patrick T. Reardon
Sure, paint the door with blood and get a pass.
But, tomorrow, Death’s angel will again be on the lookout.
Sure, read the litany of vitamins and sugars.
But, out of the blue, the heart strangles itself.
Sure, crouch away from the stranger here.
But, listen, aren’t we all?
Sure, stay between the white lines.
But, you know, a steering wheel slip has no conscience.
Sure, the best is yet to come.
Sure, lover come back.
Sure, someone to watch over me.
Sure, all of me.
Sure, it was a very good year.
Sure, that old black magic.
But, amen, amen, the numb mystery at the center of things
is a kernel that can’t be digested.
Patrick T. Reardon
2.20.19
This poem was original published in Spank the Carp 39 in 2018. It also appears in the Spank the Carp 2018 Anthology.
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/.