I am tired of cheaters
online, weary eyed crossword
players complicated moves
drift dancers, lies, laid soft peddle
dark closet dreamers.
Why do old hen's cry-
socialize in familiar doctor offices safe
the smell and the scent of times unchanged.
Magazines folder pages back to comfort.
Seek nuclei redemption in prayer books of the New Testament.
I find them there beside me in seated chairs, and wheelchairs,
moving on, why do old hen's cry?
South Chicago Night
Night is drifters,
sugar rats, streetwalkers,
insects, Lake Michigan perch,
neon tubes blinking,
half the local street
lights bulbs burned out.
No One Cares
No one cares
I set in my 2001 Chevy S10 truck
drunk on smoked salmon vodka,
writing poems on Subway sandwich napkins.
No one cares my life is a carburetor
full of fumes, filters, caskets, crickets.
Memories: Tasha Tudor
The heart of this land is within the person living there.
The cattle grazing near the riverbank, gardens manicured
with manure, cats sucking milk from any nipple, and those corgi dogs.
Mice loved life beneath her steps where she walked.
Sheep baskets full wool to wheel and knit sweaters handmade.
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois. He has been published in more than 875 small press magazines in 27 countries, and he edits 10 poetry sites. Author's website http://poetryman.mysite.com/ He has over 76 poetry videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos Email: firstname.lastname@example.org