Contrails

White contrails of a jet,
Slide across the sky
And vainly struggle to maintain their identity
Rather than be absorbed by the drifting clouds.
For a moment, they boldly reflect the subtle sheen
Of the setting sun before dissipating into
The otherness of the clouds.
The pilot is clearly oblivious
To the plight of his pets –
Surely the jet’s offspring belong to him too?
But the pilot doggedly continues his flight
Away from the sunlight, towards the growing darkness.
My heart breaks for him,
That he should be on the edge of heaven,
And not see such a beautiful sunset.

Elegy to a Piece of Graffiti – Taylors, SC (December 2012)

An old, rusty water tower seems an unlikely place

For a landmark, for a symbol of undying love.

“JimBob loves Leah” –

Anonymously proclaiming their love

To the city.

But no more.

In Greenville, an icon of hope and comfort stood

Against the rain, against the rust

No matter what happened, one thing was certain:

JimBob loved Leah.

But now, grave doubts are cast into my mind –

Does he love her still?

Or has their love gone the way of so many others,

Fading, fading, fading

Until nothing more is left,

Than paint abandoned to chip and decay and fall off an old, rusty water tower.

Vandal!  I hope that by your wanton violence,

You have at least achieved your aims.

But then, what kind of woman

Demands destruction to prove devotion?