Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Three Poems by Diane Webster

In the alley the trash truck empties
two dumpsters behind the bar;
bottles tumble and clink
out like coins in my pocket as a kid
when we’d ride bicycles through the neighborhood
collecting beer and pop bottles to redeem.
Happy to spy a beer party last night
with leftovers piled for the picking.
Now no deposit, no return
empties into the trash truck’s mouth,
and my ears try to calculate
the money jingling in its stomach
if I could redeem all the bottles
left by that beer party last night.

lying on the guard rail post
a pair of glasses
looking at the world
upside down ready
to return to owner eyes
with a flick of the wrist…
but they lie forgotten, lost
perhaps like the owner
squinting and cursing a headache
with eye strain
or memory racked
for a pair of glasses
staring for recognition.



Third Street Hill plunges
like snow on a metal roof
days old with freeze thaw
to ice up the base
until that fateful sunny day
gravity beckons its suicide slide
to leap away from the eave
and shatter on sidewalk below
like sparkling bits of dreams
melting the longer I dwell
on daytime schedules and order,
but as long as I pause atop this hill
I wonder if I survive,
if I huddle over handlebars
if I time the stop light right
how far can I coast before
pumping the pedals.

Diane Webster moved from Eastern Oregon to Western Colorado over 30 years ago and has worked at the same newspaper office since then. Diane has been published in many literary magazines, both in print and online. Her work is forthcoming in "The Old Red Kimono," "The Hurricane Review," "River Poets Journal" and others.


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