Michael Keshigian- Three Poems

THE POSSE

 

We were ants

that swarmed an opening,

digging, stealing,

back to the cave,

pests in general,

creating a nuisance,

in hell when it rained,

in trouble otherwise,

a pack of delinquents

in line

to build a world

with our rules,

living in one

with too many,

subject to

the occasional dose

of pesticide

when our numbers

bore notice.

SOON ENOUGH

 

That stubborn pile of snow,

the one beneath the dense white pine,

refuses to melt,

constantly avoiding

the glare of the sun

that pursues it at varied angles

throughout the Spring.

“Reminds me of me!,”

declares the old man

in the adjacent house,

getting a dose of fresh air

and talking to no one in particular.

I’ll never give up, he thinks,

leaning on his cane

as he watches the pedestrians

walk by, greeting him

with a casual wave,

mothers following their children,

runners crisscrossing the streets

as the pigeons desecrate

the neighbors roof

and the crows take turns

feeding off the carcass

of a road kill squirrel

capturing his gaze,

disarming his invulnerability.

STORY TELLER

 

The sky is a great big book

where stories are transcribed

upon layers of blue,

celestial fonts

swirled by fair weather clouds

on one grand page,

imprinting secrets,

like the tale of sunlight

that brightens

your corner of the world.

You might also read, for example,

an account that features a rainbow,

stalking the pewter sky,

following a thunderstorm,

smiling beneath the clouds

at the peeking sun

that guides

the rhythmic patter of raindrops,

leaping from leaf to leaf,

how one such drop,

highlighted by the light,

glistened upon a earring

lost in a passionate

early evening embrace

beneath the shadow of a maple,

a small diamond cluster

hanging from her lobe,

the one you nibbled

as she sighed

while you attempted

to dislodge the hook

above the zipper

on the back of her dress.