VOICES FROM THE FIRE: S.A. Gerber

Another round

I’m drinking with Edgar 

while Baudelaire claws 

the turf and howls outside. 

Poe is a lot drunker than 

he should be…a cheap date, 

a ‘lightweight’ even. 

“You know that Lowell 

wrote that I am only two- 

fifth’s genius?”, he stutters. 

“So fucking what!”, I reply, 

Look what you did to that 

guy out there!”. 

“Yes”, yells Baudelaire, from 

the lawn, “A rotten influence”, 

and calls for another round. 

Juxtapose

The sun sneaked 

out this day, 

I imagine to 

please the masses. 

Most think all 

is well with 

the stark sunlight, 

Makes some others 

want to hide… 

to hibernate even. 

Cold and rain 

can be conquered, 

either by wardrobe 

or by shelter, 

but there is 

only so much  

one can do 

to beat heat. 

Some would rather 

risk heat exhaustion 

and skin cancer 

than chapped lips 

and cold feet. 

Crazy events are 

coming of age. 

Icebergs are melting… 

tornados, quakes, and 

other phenomenon are 

striking in the 

most diverse places. 

New England area 

grows colder while 

the West burns. 

Not looking forward 

to summer coming. 

All has changed. 

Without Mourners

A discarded 

child’s toy 

in an 

overgrown 

field. 

It was 

once loved 

and embraced 

for security. 

It once 

provided 

what was 

not supplied 

by humans. 

It now 

lays abandon 

exposed to 

all elements. 

Not a  

fit ending 

for something 

once precious. 

It perishes 

without mourners. 

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