You cannot pin me down.
I’m here one minute. Gone the next.
I travel light and fast,
from city to town to lonely farmhouse
on the prairie to solitary gas station
off a long flat desert road.
I’m speedier than a virus
and just as hard to focus on.
But I leave my mark.
Midnight or noon and every
shade in between, I can be there,
a moment before I’m not.
You can’t sleep me away.
I cycle through dreams.
Or take long walks.
I can always keep up.
If I need to be,
I’m where you are.
If I don’t, that’s because
I’m already done with you.
I’m not God.
Hell no.
But not the devil, either.
Red flesh and horns don’t suit me.
If you feel sometimes
like strangling the woman,
then you’ve got my message.
But if you smash a glass
against the wall instead,
don’t blame me.
That’s your doing.
* * *
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Leading Edge, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in The Fifth Di, Space and Time and Holy Flea.
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