(I)
He plots movement,
holds forces,
makes strategy,
wants high ground
when the time comes.
(II)
You make a date. You
place an order. You
sit. You wait for the
heavens to open, the
bricks to crack. You
climb. You avoid the
rabid dog. You take
your pulse. You open
your eyes underwater.
You find a coin in the
dirt by the tree. You
cut your hand on the
edge of the box. You
sleep late. You look
for something to do.
(III)
My bones fill with smoke.
It is night along the edge.
There is no way to know.
Patrick T. Reardon
7.9.17
Written 8.11.81
Originally published in Proof Rock, Winter 1985-86
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/.