Reckoning

MOTH: Poetry and Prose for the New Millennium, Fall 2006, Issue Number 4, Los Angeles, CA

Tall buildings sway in the desert, hiding secrets a thousand years old.

Twisted ropes, tied in knots, hang from the tallest trees.

Clocks tick, without hands, marking time.

Clothes sit in baskets waiting to be hung up to dry.

Mothers drink coffee, tapping their feet, songs on the radio.

Babies wait in their cribs, no milk to fill empty stomachs.

Angry fathers refuse to change diapers.

Wives on strike demand their Bill of Rights.

The headless horse draws the Ace of Spades from the deck.

The number eight teases the cow jumping over the moon.

The rooster crows at 4:30 in the morning easter time.

Death comes to all who wait in line.

Dance down new paths,

Discover new roads.

March through Central Park to the zoo where lions and tigers roar.

Monkeys, hanging from branches, scratch themselves.

Snakes slither in their cages.

The keeper calls out, "Only one snack before dinnertime."

His keys jingle as he turns the lock.

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