Archive for the J. Lester Allen Category

The Sidewalk Girls by J. Lester Allen

Posted in J. Lester Allen with tags on June 3, 2020 by Scot

 

not too good with eyes
I must admit
to getting along much better
with the backs and behinds
of arch and sway,
the truthful tone of calves
and beautiful ankles of
a better world.

the eyes want too much,
I can’t bring myself to tell them
that they’ve been beaten
to the haul
and that what remains
might not be worth the
price of admission.

so these blue eyes of
many things find themselves behind
sunglasses and
beneath ball caps,
submerged in cheap
liquor,

running from no
job, a wife in another
state of a life
just gone.

sometimes it takes a man
10 years to be
sure of what he knew
all along:

that the worm will always
get its apple, no matter
the season
and that a summer
dress and stiff shot
of breeze, in all its
perennial beauty,
will never last any of us
quite long enough.

non-perishable by j. lester allen

Posted in J. Lester Allen with tags on May 7, 2020 by Scot

 

 

non-perishable

It’s Sunday
there have been two deaths
in my house so far today
both carpenter ants
that my girlfriend stepped on.
one died instantly
the other,
just mangled enough
for us to be pressed into making
a decision.

there’s a virus
running around the world
right now
that doesn’t seem like much
but it has managed to
kill the stock
market so, that’s something.
2% death rate is what they’re
saying 2
percent.
if you told me that I had a
two percent chance
of just about anything
I’d probably immediately lose interest
in whatever was to
follow but here
we are,
huddled together like
two helpless voles and
the fox is closing in,
we should probably
eat the last of
our fancy food and
drink the good beer
before the speculators
come to feast on our
bones.