IN AND OUT

​

I'm in my Lexus

in the parking lot

and I go inside, because

the drive thru is jammed

and everyone knows

that it takes longer.

It is cold out, and I go in,

and an old man on a wheelchair

outside the door, dirty

and disheveled, says something,

so I lean in and he asks

“do you know

this town well?”

He speaks so quietly

and I do not hear

him, so he repeats

“do you know this town?”

“No,” I answer, and go in,

even though I live in town.

“Not well.”

I go in quietly, so I do not hear

the quiet laughter of his

tomorrows. I put my order in--

I buy burgers and fries,

and an ice tea.

As I am heading out

he is sitting in his chair

in the night, like a silent

question mark. His grey

hair peaking from

under his baseball cap.

​

James Ritter lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two daughters. This is his fourth time through ModPo.

​

​

Words unneeded

The reentry capsule was jettisoned for splashdown in the Atlantic.

No reentry without a hand stamp.

Without a word, he took my hand.

The astronaut had seen it while we were gawking at the moon.

The earth was as blue as an orange.

Like a blue marble, they actually said but Eluard, with surreal love, had said it better before.

Say it with flowers, no words needed.

A beginner's mind has endless possibilities and not enough words.

Words in the mind of an expert are too many and possibilities few.

A person of few words.

Strong silent type.

Ears to hear.

Leave some white space talking through in Mrs. Thornton's art class.

White space talks like white noise.

Don't talk with your mouth too full of words.

If we use up our all words too soon, we will be condemned to

Silence.

Holly York has for many years translated and taught French to college students in Atlanta Georgia, USA, where she lives with husband Martin and two Doberman Pinschers. Her poems have appeared in Whitmanthology, Three Drops from a Cauldron and Word Bohemia.