Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: Poetry

a thought named steve

i trapped a little thought in my head,
and i kept it captive for longer than would be considered reasonable,
not sharing it with the rest of the class,
because they don’t deserve this little thought in my head,
though i’m fairly certain neither do i,
but i’ll call the thought steve,
and we’ll be best friends,
just don’t ask where i put that thought in my head,
since everything up there keeps getting lost, broken, and bruised

cupping days

loud slurping noises coming from a brightly illuminated room,
where cups of black elixir sit on a rotating table,
waiting to be sampled, waiting to be judged by coffee professionals 
that have tasted them countless times before,
but here the moment is again!
to cup; to score; to grow, once more

new to the whole seeing thing

i got new glasses,
but they hurt my head,
so i’m thinking i might try to go a while without seeing all too clearly,
but i haven’t come to any sort of conclusions yet