Some Poems I wrote for the Old Lady Being Mentored by Eyers

I hear it howl at the moon

The voice is primal, defeaning

I quake in fear at this thing

Where could it be hiding?

In a shed or a barn

Even in a cloud or inside of a car

I hear the leaves rustle, a branch

snaps. The wind is still, yet

I hear the soft rumble of an avalanche

The chase continues, where could it be?

Your mother is out there, somewhere.

===

Is it icecream or elmer’s glue?

Could it be cake or is it a dish sponge?

Is it pine needles or pine sol?

That soft touch; asbestos or clouds?

Look before you lick.

The voice, you hear it, it tells you to lick

You brace yourself, you take a deep breath

they tell you not to worry, that you don’t have to

you stick out your tongue and die on the inside

and there is your mother.

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~ by Ryan Rix on 4 October 2009.

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