in a crowded auditorium
I was hand picked by my teacher
“which direction do birds
fly for the winter” was the question
probably directed my way with a certain
level of confidence in my answer
but I replied with something other than “south”
and thus it was from that point forward
I lost all but a crumb of credibility
at the budding young age of five & a half
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the central banker
was technically
a technocrat
but in professional circles
was simply known
as ‘technocat’
her name was katie
but her friends
called her betty
known to line ‘em up
and knock ‘em down
every saturday night
on occasion
she’d end up missing
for a day or three
only to return to the glee
of the other technos
relying on her expertise
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
besides the derringer
she owned three revolvers
and a winchester rifle
kept them stashed in the master bedroom
the former in the middle dresser drawer
the latter in the closet
for the afternoon outing she wore
an off-white summer dress
sporting a petite white purse with
the derringer inside
walking through a lonely park
with a married man
covertly arranged by an angry woman
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she’s out back hanging laundry
a slight breeze cooling
her tanned skin
methodically rehearsing in her mind
precisely what will go down
come this time tomorrow
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they were searching for gold
but only found silver
nearly in abundance on either
side of the rivers
they arrived at elkport
over a fortnight ago
labored along the banks of the
volga & the turkey
right at the height
of the twenty year drought
they worked the bloody sands
like only they knew
sifting silver flour into canisters
courtesy of the glaciers
counting their blessings
(almost on a daily basis)
at the local bank
or the nearest pub
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you did everything you wanted to
for one whole day
later telling yourself it was worth it
after all these years
wee men & women scurry about
in the gardens
measuring the outer perimeters
reporting back home
they say winter is fast approaching
where would we go
if not for the reliability
of time passages
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so much for the twenty-first century
already dead & gone in so
many amazing minds
what at first promised
wine & roses & endless opportunity
quickly spiraled
in slow motion fashion like an
unmanned tunnel boring machine
some fools are following right along
believing their journey
to the center of the earth
will magically alter the course
of human events
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are plenty of stories yet to tell
won’t you sit down & humor me
won’t you believe in yourself
the storm has come & gone
the rain gauge reset
there are words yet to be recorded
and gates to be repaired
but as you well know
those who rest too much die too soon
just as those speeding recklessly
encounter the same fate
when & where to call a timeout
that appears to be make a difference
for example like that instance
nobody cared for a whole year
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
No matter how many times
the story changes
we can never quite make it
out of the woods
Subtle messages
slip through the treeline
by way of sunlight
If we’re lucky we’ll catch
a few more lines
from Snyder or Whitman
or Mary Oliver
And so we listen
with our hearts
& our minds
attempting to capture
that which is given
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she was everything
from start to finish
you name it & it’s done
next door the lights
are low & the sound
is next to nothing
visitors come & go
never for very long
and on occasion
a firefighter or two
might stop by
just to check in
she used to save
lives but like her idol
is unable to save herself
and meanwhile
all the people in her life
rotate in & out
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the last of the great cities fell
piecemeal in a matter of minutes
it was the year the music
died for the third time
in all of human history
this must be it
or so said a cult of survivors
having managed to run off with
the whiskey & rye
they followed the stars by night
(and slept by day)
the owl & the red fox & fireflies
becoming their champions
the smell of destruction
gradually faded
from town to town
the only signs of life continuing
to be their own entourage
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is love & hate
happening on hollywood avenue
I try to stay
on the right side of the street
my dreams keep telling me
everything I’m gonna miss
but I don’t get the half of it
waking up at 2 am to gunshot
pit bulls barking up & down the street
what few truths there are left
(inalienable or otherwise)
ricochet up & down the boulevard
the scorching sun
attempting to eradicate all the lies
baked within
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she shuffles her feet & reaches out
to be touched
suddenly she’s swept onto a wooden floor
repurposed from an early 19th century barn
torn apart by a hungry tornado
thrown onto the earth by an angry god
her hand meets another reaching forward
strong & invisible & pulling her in
light on her feet
her hips rotating counterclockwise
her out-of-body experience repeats
throughout the seasons
a herd of cows standing watch
behind an old wooden fence
repurposed from a late 17th century bridge
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Images replay in your mind
throughout a lifetime
Compared to photographs & recordings
or any other means
detailing what transpires here
only the memory keeps it true
to the original
whether in color or black & white
such unpredictable flashbacks
suddenly appear out of nowhere
Thinking back to a time
doesn’t always do itself justice
just as reaching deep inside
doesn’t always do the trick
oh no sometimes your memory
does on its own
what you can’t possibly control
especially when least expected
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It was just the two of us
and a field of overgrown weeds
an hour after sunup
in the garage
his father had two kinds of sickles
probably handed down
from previous generations
wooden handles restained (how many
times over the years)
sharp as a tack & anxious
to get back to work
and so back to work we went
turning the big field of weeds
into a ball diamond
sickle carving out the dimensions
dual lawn mowers
working out the finer details
measuring ninety feet between the bags
sixty feet from pitching rubber
to home plate
by noon the grapevine
had attracted the best players
from within a ten mile radius
one by one & two by two
(or some other kind of combination)
they arrived by foot or bike
or special envoy
by the time one twenty rolled around
the first pitch was thrown
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s impossible to own the night
but tomorrow
is another story
standing there in the peripheral
as if to say
you are not yourself
your current state of mind
disbelieving
that the stars in your future
can ever be washed away
that the man in the box
is someone you’ve never known
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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