By Richard LeDue
Since You Didn’t Ask
Don't ask me where this poem is going- I should probably bring a yellow crayon to the sun, not just add more clouds using a pencil, sharpened with a butter knife and found years later in an old shoebox, long after switching to a pen, and over 4000 kilometres from home.
Unable to Grasp
Moonlight escapes through fingers, regardless how tight they're clenched. Hands restless afterwards. Another sleepless night haunted by light-bulbs, supposedly keeping away darkness, while bloodshot eyes watch a door left ajar, waiting for someone who can't come back.
Two Dollars Off With a Fill-up
Wish I could marvel at a car wash, be amazed at each sud, almost believing it all to be magic, but I've always preferred muddy tires. They tell a story of where you've been, how life means more than shine, and all those who admire well waxed hoods, are the same who worry about mileage, rising gas prices, while sitting at home with no where to go.