Matt Borczon- Three Poems

maybe summer

maybe the

summer needs

to write

its own story

its own

poems

across my

eyelids and

over my

memory

burnt orange

skies on

days hot

as the

wind through

a hangman’s

noose

as my

red hot

pokers bloom

like radiant

missiles  in

my garden

of love

today I

have quiet

and coffee

thought and

inspiration

but no

poem

Military town

the air

smells of

diesel and

coal dust

just off

the highway

and even

at rush hour

this town

feels empty

as I

cross the

road looking

for a meal

and anyplace

less lonely

on a military

weekend

away from home

some days

I hate

this uniform

it reminds me

of how

far away

my family

and I

are from

who I

used to

be back

before the

war stole

my optimism

my energy

my faith

most of

my kindness

all of myself

and left me

full of

nightmares

and the smell

of blood I

still can’t

wash off

left me

here or

home or

anywhere

alone or

in formation

standing  like

a ghost in

service dress

blues.

JUNE

Its an

early

Beatles song

kind of

morning

suns out

windows down

and driving

so fast the

shadows on

the street

are a

puppet show

a Chinese opera

or Ferris wheel

a classic novel

about a man

and a whale

and I just

might be one

or the other

because today

I am anything

and everything

screeching  under

these wheels.