Saturday, April 21, 2007



Our neighbor, Dr. Daniels, ran. But I was nimble.
Over my wee shoulder I see it, the flashing rake
Waved like the vanquished telling surrender,
Yet longing to kill. Oh, I lived to see him so.
Such a mischief was I. Such.
As the sparks fly upwards, so did I vanish.
Peering between slats at the fool. The Fool!
Panting. This way and that. Sprouting three hairs grayer.
Defeated. Foiled, once again.
My own chest rollicking, silent.
Wait. He will tire first, again.

Wait. He…

He is long dead. And I, more alive
Than ever, walk along a street. Sussex, by name.
Thousands of miles away, near a half-century hence.
I am accosted by the scent. Literally frozen, and warmly so.
For here it is. My own chest… filled with everything
That ever I was, and have ever known. Been.
He had these. Over the fence. He did.
And we spent ourselves, running from each other.
Neither knowing that we were each as young, once.
Never once stopping to grasp. To breathe the message.
Every act of wanton menace carries within it the scent
Of lilacs, pleading innocence.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2007

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