He plots movement,

holds forces,

makes strategy,

wants high ground

when the time comes.



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.



My bones fill with smoke.

It is night along the edge.

There is no way to know.


Patrick T. Reardon



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/.

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