Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Poetry

polite weather

in the afternoon,
i go out onto the sidewalk,
stare up at the sun,
and bake
until i'm burnt to a crisp,
or until the rain comes,
though the weather
is rarely that polite

big, blue

falling ill in the back of a van
heading out west,
far-far-west,
towards the ocean where the jellyfish sting
and that starfish sings
something about living
under a big, blue blanket,
all while living in a big, blue tub

subway tracks

slang spoken to cover 
verbal tracks meant to convey
slick thoughts shinning through
gold teeth, being punched in,
mind-mind-mind,
the damn gap and get off at the right stop!