A Poem by Lance Sheridan

and in her eyes

delinquent children skip rope in a street,

steal moments of sanity

fire hydrant water washes away the dirt,

the remains of a previous day

bare feet feel the pull,

the weak suffer

hot black top city pavement,

taxi tires melt

in place

meters ticking,

ticking

one fifth of a mile comes out

of knock off

wallets,

purses

preacher in a church laughs a

hallowed laugh,

abscond with holy water,

abscond with collection

plate change

does the steepled fingers before

inserting a key in a benz

police officer taps on window car

glass for a slice

of a holy pie

sandlot slide zone in an empty lot,

once, a building,

once, families lived

now watch 

sandlotters play, know of caliber

handguns hidden under

bases

plans of shooting the messenger

shooting the landlord

tenant

but, hands still cold from 

winter frost

on glass

vagrants kick stones through brittle,

crisp mornings;

on a damp sidewalk, collar up to

be inconspicuous, 

i perchanced,

looked up 

at a solitary Victorian window,

she, with black lace on hands,

with black lace covering

a beautiful look,

i climbed into her eyes,

became a part

of an expression,

she handed me a deep silence,

had a story

held it up on written paper,

black ink dripping onto Victorian

rug, words 

formed in a small, dark puddle,

crept through fibers into 

cracks in a planked,

uneven floor,

resident below placed them neatly 

in a dirty mason jar,

closed with a rusted, uneven lid;

i invited myself up,

she opened a door, slowly,

somewhat reluctantly

i asked to read what was left 

on parchment

a life like a prow in still waters,

yet waves broke

broke her spirit,

i sympathized,

she kissed me

with blue delicate eyes;

on her finger, mark of a 

wedding band

the husband, an undercover cop,

found dead in an

abandoned factory,

birds nest in 

broken window frames

she cried, eyes now hollow

like potholes in 

waxed tabletops,

"i cannot possibly fit myself into

this world any longer,"

she turned away and gestured 

for me to leave,

beyond her look, beyond her veil,

she stood by a lonely

window

waiting,

waiting

for her love to return...

Lance Sheridan—

Published writer—Bits and Pieces to Ponder/Self-Help/2002 

Published poet—Poet Interview on November 8, 2012 by a Salisbury University Journalism Major/Salisbury, MD; poem 'Night into Day/Goodnight Till the Morning Sun'/11-12/napalmandnovocain.blogspot; poem 'Night into Day/Goodnight Till the Morning Sun' has been accepted for inclusion in the 2012 Best of Anthology, Storm Cycle

blog—deadheadingpoet.wordpress.com; has received over 75,000 views since June 2012. One poet on my work, "Whoa … ur writing is incredible." April Pardocchi