Fred Aiken Writing

sound out the words and don’t make them taste so sad,
while keeping the volume down, staring down, craning necks and long backs,
to feel the weight of people throwing pebbles
they picked up on the side of the road,
peppered with litter, with crossed eyes
staring at the stars,
hand flailing in the air,
and we’ll make sure to enunciate the deep-seeded
secrets meant to be kept,
then let go…