From the Mad Mind 

                                   of Anthony Watkins

Three poems from my upcoming collection, Written in Darkness.

 

 

 

On Flaghole Road

 

the sounds of my mind

and one rooster

who thinks I should be

waking at one

in the afternoon.

 

The breeze blows quiet,

cooling the hot

January sun.

 

I hear my toothache,

the sound of

my impatience,

beating against the sky—

ablaze with emptiness.

 

The white dog,

on the sidewalk,

carries the dead

white chicken trophy

in its mouth.

 

Some neighbor

will not be impressed.

 

The rooster now crows

the two o’clock hour,

the tooth is still there,

the lady who I am to see

still isn’t,

but I have mosquitoes

and lizards to catch them.

 

 

I Have Been

 

to John Stretch,

I have seen

the vultures,

 

I have climbed

the dry levee.

 

There is no lake,

no river:

 

only an island,

if you can have

an island without

water.

 

I have been to John Stretch,

the vultures know

my name.

By the House with the Patched Red Roof

 

the bird dog slopes

across the back yard,

rolls and scrapes his back

in the dry grass,

looks at me at fifty paces,

sniffs the air

and wanders over

to the horse pen

and out to the bucket shed.

 

The red rooster watches

in the shade

of an overgrown weedbush.

 

 

     Anthony Watkins

Pen America

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