Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Judgment


I was
one thing
to you only.
One thing.

How could I bear
the weight of
all you could
never see of me?


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Monday, October 13, 2014

Old Red Farm Truck


If I were the old red
farm truck

I’d rust gracefully,
warm myself
in the sun
no matter
who was looking

or not looking.

I’d rumble through town
turning heads and
causing
classy kinds
to sputter,
gape and guffaw
at my sheer lack
of gloss.

I’d smell like tobacco,
oranges,
and tar—

even on Saturday nights
when I’d
idle slowly,

taking up more space
than they’d think
I ought to have,

and park
at the old drive-in
with Coke and popcorn
stuck to my seat

while somebody
kisses somebody else
for the first time,
forever.



© 2014 Jennifer Wagner


Thursday, October 9, 2014

Credible Hulk



Rounding the corner
I see him
and can tell

he wants to talk.

I pull
the earbuds
from my ears—

Hi, buddy.  How ya doing?  Having fun out here?
—Good!  Yes.

Seeing a pumpkin in his yard, I ask,
what are you going to be for Halloween?
—I’m gonna be
the ‘Credible Hulk!

Great choice.  We really don’t
have enough of those, you know.

His smile leaps up
like a grasshopper
and then he bounds away, too.

I replace the earbuds,
keep walking,
and whisper—

Godspeed, little man,
godspeed.


© 2014 Jennifer

A snippet of a conversation I had with a little boy I met as I was on a walk.  Of course he meant The Incredible Hulk, but the way he said it is so much better.  Smiles!

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Everything

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner



There are things we lost
in the flood

or after it
in the seeping, standing water

up past our hips.

It’s no use;
they’re gone.

Remember when
I told you

I thought
we weren’t strong enough,

maybe we
were too damaged

to make this work?

But you
only remember me saying

I’d stay
and let you try.

And for that
you’d give up everything, again,

because everything
means nothing.


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Trap Door





I have a demon for sale

but it will cost you
more than
you are probably
willing to pay.

It has already
bled me drier than a
dead president’s kiss,

and still I owe.

I go
to great lengths
to starve it,

try to keep it at bay—

this drunk dial
sober reality
I try wishing away—

close the trap door,
cut it off
at its legs,

squeeze-close
the cracks
in my armor, again,
from the fray.

Because
when you love
something broken

you break

and you break
and you break.


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner



For dVerse Poetics Grace offers us the work of conceptual photographer Brooke Shaden.


Note:  I took some artistic license with the word "trapdoor."  I separated it for dramatic emphasis, in case anyone was hung up on the spelling, ha.  But dictionary.com says it can be "trap door" too, so maybe it's okay anyway.  Thanks for reading!

Friday, September 19, 2014