Surrender
Howl, howl,
howl, ice peppered
mud splashed
clapboard scarecrow
wilted on
pole. Fox ran amok in
hen house,
rooster strutted in deafness.
Three little
pigs huddled behind a couch
old hound
howled, blood-eyed owl hid
in the
recesses of the branchless oak tree
to the rear
of the house.
She swung on
the pole in her soiled white
dress waving
at passing trucks, her blistered
lips
glistened in early morning sun, empty
sockets
never closed. Crows ate nearby.
No one saw
the sun drop from the sky, felt
plates
separate or heard the screams of
humanity.
There wasn’t
any mourning.
Time
In morning
light
a tear drops
on
her cheek.
Fills
crevices of
her
skin. Kisses
her
lips.
She traces
its
journey with
a
fingertip,
along the
route over
and
over, feels
wetness
of skin,
lines in
her face,
pain
of heart.
Her twisted
fingers
clasp, she
nods off
dreams,
sleeps. A
new tear
drops as
she wakes.
It’s a Job
As I drink
my morning coffee I hear him
arrive, the
diesel still cranky after an early
wake up in
winter’s cold. He steps to the
back of the
truck, pant length ankle high
worn uniform
shoes. He whistles, pulls
the plastic
bins to the edge of the truck
loads the
leather satchel, slings it over
slender
shoulder, pulls down the door
walks to the
apartment entrance, yanks
the door
open and begins filling the
small boxes
with mail, drops packages
in front of
doorways, whistles while he
weaves
through the complex. He says
hello to
those he passes or hands certified
letters,
walks the basement, up and down
steps in and
out of buildings. As quickly as
he arrived,
the sound of the cranking begins
the truck
pulls out, he parks up the street
begins
again, house to house part of the fabric
of life and
I don’t know his name.
BIO: g emil reutter lives and writes in the Fox Chase neighborhood
of Philadelphia, Pa. Eight collection of his poetry and fiction have been
published. He can be found at: http://gereutter.wordpress.
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