Ken Gierke

 

Ascenseur pour l’echafaud

Bad news seems to come at every turn,
friends facing dark skies.
On my way to see my own doctor,
I wonder if it’s my turn. North on 63
out of Jeff City, climbing hill after hill
with Columbia always beyond the horizon,
I leave gray skies behind to drive
into some of the darkest I’ve seen.
This may not be an elevator,
but each time I crest a hill I wonder
if I’ll find gallows at the top,
faceless friends lined up
to the plaintive wail of Miles’ trumpet
as they wait for their turn in this film noir,
wait for me to join them, my heartbeat
the bass that lies under every track.
But then that trumpet almost sings.
And even when that horn is muted
I know that we each have our own highway,
and not every road leads to the gallows.

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Ken Gierke is a retired truck driver, transplanted to mid-Missouri from Western New York. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming both in print and online in such places as Ekphrastic
Review, Amethyst Review, Silver Birch Press, The Gasconade Review and River Dog Zine. Glass Awash, published by Spartan Press, is his first collection of poetry. His website: https://rivrvlogr.com/