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.
