poetry by j matthew waters

it is written

it’s a quiet enough street
designed by some fool who
hated utility poles and
loved to throw horseshoes

of course he passed away
like any good fool does
and I took his place
at the top of the arc
an area of nonoccurrence
where delivery men know my
neighbors better than anyone

I came across his writings
and drawings when digging out
forget-me-nots that had been
taking over my life
bringing time to a standstill
and consuming my inclinations
with unfounded imaginings

july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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