By Jessica Jacobson
Blaring music flowing through the wind
Crunch of the tires against the ground as if smashing bone
Clicking steering wheel, like a ticking time bomb, that just won’t turn
A pop loud enough to be a gun as the tire comes off the rim
Screeching of the rims on the blacktop
Shattering of glass against the mailbox
Metal collapsing in, on top and underneath, just like crushing a soda can
Screaming at the top of your lungs
Sniffling as if congested while trying not to cry
Sirens searing the air, heard all over the town
Clanking metal, almost as if washing the silverware at home
Happy endings turn unhappy fast by one gun popping sound
[See April 11's posting for a brief statement about Jessica Jacobson.]
* * * * * * * * * *
“Meals
on Wheels: Lillian”
by Ron Parkinson
by Ron Parkinson
Nine
days after the blizzard,
not
a footprint in the driftslapping at Lillian’s life.
She’s dragged her bed to the kitchen,
abandoned the rest of the house,
open oven door holding back the frost,
her final fortification.
Clutches her cotton housecoat at the cleavage,
proudly shows me a picture,
her thirteen children,
nine hulking men,
pressed slacks, sport coats,
none of them holding a shovel.
[See April 6's posting for a brief statement about Ron Parkinson.]
