Apart from Myself

September 22, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

The five of us stood together
in front of our house
and watched the rain runoff
rise out of the gutter
and over the yard.

Those few out driving in this deluge
see me drenched with shadowy bodyguards
that no enemy is willing to approach—
not even the lightning
as the thunder reverberates over the block.

I am not a young man anymore
according to tradition and census
but this corralling empty trash bins
swept away from their homes
by the runoff tickles my fancy.

On the depressed playground
of the corner elementary school
a pool forms at least three feet deep
as someone young in a yellow slicker
hangs upside down on the jungle gym.

The four other aspects of myself
soaked head to toe
washed free of swagger
go back inside while I fish
a Barbie doll out of the gutter’s current.

Unused Floodplain

August 4, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ 1 Comment

When the Rio Grande enters El Paso
it changes from a simple river
to an international boundary
with a lot of rules.

It is not like the up stream Rio Grande
does not know rules, since it does.
But up stream rules control usage
not crossings.

After seventy-seven days without measurable rain
the river looked to be in poor health
and able to be crossed
with a hop skip and jump.

Monsoon season arrived seventeen June.
Rain fell up and down the central valley
creating feeder streams
from sandy arroyos and concrete ditches.

Close To The Edge Played In The Background

December 4, 2020 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

After the TV broke
and the odd monsoon arrived
I watched rain showers
float items down the street.

Pink plastic cup.
Stripped Barbie doll.
A torn love song.
And my neighbor’s melancholy.

When the rain stopped,
I turned to watch the cholla
swell before my eyes
though that is a trick of imagination.

All the Gold- and Rosefinches
returned to the damp nyjer seed
and jousted for landing
on the feeder’s mesh wall.

A dark-eyed Junco
with white tail feathers
got nicknamed
Tongue Depressor.

Tonight, I will tell my beloved
about an endangered species:
the Yellow Taxi I saw
returning neighbors home

from the holiday made longer
by mandated quarantines
and widely differing political views
constricted by No Shouting rules.

postscript

For those of you who do not know Close to the Edge is a song by the rock group Yes. Here is a link to a YouTube playing of the song. Wikipedia has an entry on the song as well.

Confession: the poem is not about the song or any of its ascribed meanings, but is in the title because it was an ear-worm while writing this poem.