Sweeping

Whsht whsht whsht

The sun kaleidoscopes the maple

into orgasmic explosion
sending life upon death

through the vacant street

in 1968, his son met jimi hendrix
in Da Nang, but
only the music returned

giving voice
to a folded flag

wushhh wuushh wushhh

lost a sister in '73 in the
damnedest wreck clay county
never did see, and

A maple leaf falls

in twist and float
but settles short of

the potter's field
where it's too sad
for red to die

Wushhh wushhh wushhh
sweeps the broom

as Tom's mail truck

rounds the corner

unnoticed

by the stillest of motion

whsht whsht whsht

Mary passed in '87 from the cancer

-brother earl, two years later

when his heart paused

a moment too long

over the snow shovel

cars pass, some wave

some stare

a few understand

and most ignore

in kindness

but it matters not to him

he who

at first light sidles down

the porch steps

clutching his purpose,

the only one he can keep alive

and the leaves fall

and the wind laughs

and the town cries

for greater recognition, but

time means nothing here

having been swallowed whole

by the seasons of his passing

and the cold hand of loneliness

so all day long he sweeps

that same God damned spot

of clean dirt

like an upside down grave

he can't gain entrance to

and the children pass

to school

and back

quiet feared and wild-eyed

while Marge Thompson

sips her coffee while

leaning to her kitchen window

remembering

to when the maple was a sapling

and hope sang harmony

over green grass seeding love

whsht whsht whsht

~rick