h o m e........
p a s t   i s s u e s....
s u b m i s s i o n s....
l i n k s

 

 

...............
DEAN YOUNG


.............
FLOOD PLAIN 

The red jacket waits in the closet to go by.
The lizard waits in the sunshine to go by.
Money, large denominations, waiting to go by.
Youth going by, the heart turns to solder
then no, a mimosa tree. Herd of elk, milk
on the shelf, the kingdom of the elf.
PiÒatas going by. Wham, birthday boy
swats, scattering trinkets and sweets.
Flash going by the camera. 500 miles per hour
weekend, speed of light Dalmation pup.
Great mental effort going by but not enough
to mend a string. In a red jacket, you go by,
the moment lost, firecracker gone off, just
gunpowder-smelling shreds. The day drags by
the moon then the moon returns looking
for its keys. On the table they wait
not going anywhere it seems to the naked
eye but actually flying by, flying apart,
made of atoms locked in repulsive force.
My buddy’s son not six feet tall, took all
of what? Twenty minutes. Stop! Hard not to want
to get a choke-hold on something anything,
even a piece of bread, stay, it can’t. Spring
throwing itself a parade as it goes by,
firetruck, veterans, jet plane, wedding
going by so long the end’s a funeral.
Popsicle stick bumping down rain-glutter
gutter. Let it go, says the wise man,
lest you be too weighed down going
where you must go by.