frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

27 July 2009

Trudging down the street.
The ransom in my pocket.
My mind wanders again.
Loses track of what I should be thinking.
So long.
This day.
The asphalt before me.
Her hair.
I should have known better.

A quick glance over my shoulder.
Should I double back?
No, that's what they expect.
I pull up my collar and continue.
Straight.
Trying to look determined.
Another gait.
A show of confidence.

I pause before turning the corner.
Straighten my jacket.
Riffle my hair.
This has already unfolded
so many times in my mind.
But never quite like this.
Without the air of destiny.
The ethereal beating of my heart.
Calm composure.
Sublime resignation.

 each morning   i come in peace   with one final kiss   looking for you   castle in the mist   Bakery Square   dreaming of you   airport   black and white   It must have been a dozen years since we last spoke.   Trudging down the street.   one more day   my guitar hands   what a night.   Why did they need both the Atlantic and the Pacific?   as this morning's light   the king