Richard LeDue

One Of My Many Hourly Updates

A crow hops through the snow,
always thought those birds
looked wise as clowns,
then tiny black eyes stare back at me,
and I feel naked,
dumb as a feathered dinosaur
ready for an ice age.

The promised rain of spring
a lie, while winter holds on
like a beak clasps string,
never knowing why,
and when the crow flies away
towards a destination
made meaningless by tomorrow,
I realize how much I hate
three day old socks,
covering feet that stink of the ground.

No Answer

Should be easier to turn the phone off,
look out the window,
count dancing snowflakes like they were blessings
falling from a sleeping god’s beard,
then I wouldn’t envision a hospital bed,
no visitors as lungs fill with fluid,
family waiting for a phone call-
someone has to not look away,
remember that person
who dies alone is more than a statistic
updated daily on news websites,
and that their life ended
because vacations were too important to cancel,
while words like wages, profits, bills, rent, budgets, economy,
boot straps choked us,
and everyone was left with nowhere to go
but on their phones.

Richard LeDue was born in Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada, but currently lives in Norway House, Manitoba with his wife and son. His poems have appeared in various publications throughout 2019, and more work is forthcoming throughout 2020, including a chapbook from Kelsey Books.

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