The squeaking gate swings melancholy
above the tattered steps that lead
to a most conventional porch.
The rusted gate:
an unnecessary appendage, left over
from a previous incarnation
Give me a wire brush.
Give me a can of black enamel paint.
With such implements, I will make
of this gate a new and admirable
entryway, one that leads from the external world
to my personal approximation of heaven.
Paul Ilechko was born in England but has lived much of his life in the USA. He currently lives in Lambertville, NJ with his girlfriend and a cat. Paul has had poetry published and/or accepted recently by Third Wednesday, Sick Lit Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, MockingHeart Review and Slag Review, among others.