Thursday, April 16, 2009

Dead Wood

It was a thoughtful jog
in pink velour, 
an uphill climb
in sweatless emotion.
Arms punching 
to a cadence
of canvas tread
on pavement.

Glancing over
the shoulder
the forest beckoned
as a ghost from the past
demanding attention.

A fire burned angrily
in a dark bed of clearing
if only for a moment of blink.

Gnarly flannelled men
stacked logs from
their wood-cutting
in gay preparation.

There was a rolling
and tumbling of wood
upon the forest floor;
a feeling of forlorn.

Edging the forest
was the old playground.
Nets of courts
still weaved into web
over cracked macadam.

The old canon stood
pocked and rusty,
the fort abandoned
under stalking weeds.

I lingered in memory...
until a lonely man called out-

"Keep walking mam,
nothing to see,
ya hear?"

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