Poems & Prose

No One Could Ever Know

siraphat, published on 13 April 201 Stock Photo - image ID: 10037630, from http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

siraphat, published on 13 April 201 Stock Photo – image ID: 10037630, from http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

 
 

No one, not the crotchety old man across the street could know, nor
His wife, or Mikala’s own father could ever know
How the serpent waged war in the apex of Mikala’s seventeen year old legs,
or how Alex liked to lean into a turn, almost laying down, but not quite,
the kickstand kissed the ground as the engine roared through the rising speed.
 
“Man, don’t let Mikala ride on the back of that thing!” The old man warned
Mikala’s father acquiesced, Mikala had her own mind, what could he say?
 
The sleeping serpent awoke, and slid out of its lair.
 
Three hours later
The serpent snaked through the unforgiving road, squealing and convulsing
The speed climbed to 90, 95, 100, 105.
 
Alex, did not know how one flawed move,
One slight turn,
Could cause the serpent to transform into a silver pinball, ricocheting between curb and median.
 
No one could ever know how the silver pinball exploded into a thousand pieces,
Metal crumbs strewn far and wide,
Or how a tree limb sheered Alex’s left leg as he flew straight up through the trees
His blood sizzled as it dripped from the tree branches onto the sizzling asphalt.
 
No one could ever know how Mikala knew to leap for her life, off the serpent,
body to concrete,
her skin ripped and peeled, like a burnt orange, raw and red 
 
And,
no one will ever know the torture of terminus,
like Alex and Mikala.
 

~Kimberly Jo Cooley

Ghetto Bird

Image courtesy of SweetCrisis, published on 02 June 2012 Stock Photo - image ID: 10085032, from http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

Image courtesy of SweetCrisis, published on 02 June 2012 Stock Photo – image ID: 10085032, from http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

How does it feel, Ghetto Bird, to circle over houses,
And the people who dwell within them?

Far from rare, a pest for sure,

How does it feel to be the state’s most hated bird?

How does it feel to flash your obtrusive, bright light into the window
Of a mother changing her baby’s diaper?

Or on an elderly man taking a shower?
Or on the man walking his dog?
Or on the teens in the park?

A fishbowl, a hawk

prey, victim, assailant, predator

Do you find what you seek, Ghetto Bird?
Round and round you go,
Illuminating the night’s sky with an artificial sun,
Beaming down on me, I’m caught –
Or so I thought.

You demand “stay inside!”
Describing the alleged and their clothes,
And their race.

Take flight, Ghetto Bird,
Go home, you’re not wanted here,

God speed and Good night.

~Kimberly Jo Cooley

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