Fog Bound (poem)

Posted by ractrose on 16 Sep 2020 in Art, Poems

The short life of an early riser

A trawler…sort of that

Resigned to his smokes and mists

His captive’s steps delay the epitaph

And every, of his days, has him by the throat

From a pipe he puffs as one would etch

In the present tongue

A messenger’s dry-leafed plea

Plea and wager, one’s all right

He is a Sherlock plying the trade of spirit detective

Still behind himself in scent

There, if you care, the palpable trace of him

whatever happens next

And comforts still for jaded clientele

Discreet the promises, or had been…by him

so many

The pit to the leak below the street

Tires creep, lame-treaded by a coat

Of temporary tar and gravel

Awakened sick and sober clings to a stair-rail

A bird a-hunting worms at the shift-change hour

A trafficker most cloaked in this beading ichor

The panel for safety urged freelance, grinding fate

opens the sized-for-a-shoe-heel gap

Fog Bound