That Next Place

This was written by a guy called John, who is one of the best poets I’ve discovered writing today. He writes poems over at his blog just about every day (and, if you’re so inclined, you would do well to hop over and read them). He wrote this yesterday, and it made me gasp and sigh with truth.
I look forward to that picnic.

the beautiful due

Everyone’s here. That’s the feeling I kept having, this pulsing sensation of joy that everyone’s here. It was a late summer picnic, people were wearing shorts and there were stop-traffic legs but also regular-old legs. I say that to indicate the qualities of handsome and plain were still a part of the picture. Speaking of legs, there were all these vets whose legs had been stolen in their earthly service and lo and behold their legs had all been returned and man they were running around chasing each other like boys, grinning like soldiers at ease, while their dear mothers stood with tears in their eyes and hands on their hips saying Now wouldja just look at that. Suddenly I thought Damn, there won’t be enough food for everyone and then a young lady I’d adored as a boy cleared her throat and pointed to a circle of children nearby…

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