The Lonely Hour
Clouds cross the moon
as bats slice though the air
doing their best at pest control
while a blind man sits on a bench
signing his love to a deaf woman
as fireflies flash in the dark
a church bell far away
begins to toll.
At Death Do Thee Mate
Love was the fish you couldn't catch
despite every lure you could find
it wouldn't even give you a nibble
so you threw your bait away
and swore a vow to be celibate
until the earth at last showed pity
and took you into her bosom
for better or for worse
no questions asked.
William Cullen, Jr., is a veteran and works at a non-profit in Brooklyn, NY. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, Camroc Press Review, Christian Science Monitor, Gulf Stream, Pirene's Fountain, Poppy Road Review, Right Hand Pointing, Spillway, and Word Riot.
No comments:
Post a Comment