Checkmate?
John Grey
Such a bizarre game of chess.
Your bishop cheated with my queen.
My knight beheaded your lead pawn.
Your king rustled one of my horses.
Pieces drifted onto the wrong color squares
or made moves not in the rule book.
Blood was spilled during en passant.
Check was nothing less than an insult to integrity,
a stain on the other’s honor.
There’s was fencing, forgiveness,
Verbal abuse, power-plays, hugs and kisses.
and even a riot at KB 1.
I don’t remember who won.
It could have been a draw.
It may not have even been chess.
Gator Watch
John Grey
Below your reflection’s brown ripple
among rotting logs and cattails,
an alligator’s gray-scaled head breaks the surface.
In your mind, there’s only ever
been the one of these giant reptiles.
It’s a million years old.
Its hunger is prehistoric.
And it has always dwelled here,
within a jaw’s-reach of the fishing hole,
where you dangle your line and lure,
a modest trap compared to its
occasional murderous thrashing rampage.
Unblinking eyes excuse its lack of memory
What it can see suits the monster well enough.
No, it means you no harm.
Your thin tough body
is not in its repertoire of kills.
It just wants you to know
that all of time is watching.
And it is still and silent,
infinitely cold-blooded.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions and Sanskrit with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Owen Wister Review and Louisiana Literature.
Low Clouds
Richard King Perkins II
The young married guy at the diner
whispers loudly
to his unsympathetic wife:
Please, please.
I don’t want you to leave.
Stay with me, please.
You’re the only one
who understands my farts.
She walks out into the low clouds
never looking back.
He sinks into the padded bench
passing gas, misunderstood.
Yuma Air
Richard King Perkins II
You have heard the owls questioning below the cloud circus,
slow talons releasing earth. If a balloon could feel
this is the dangerous love it would submit to. In Yuma, the owl
is a tangent of horizon, a focused thirst above constant night.
You are small and lithe; you wear it perfectly, but someday,
you too will feel the slash, then the slowness of escaping air.
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage.
