3 of 32

Write now Article Tools

Walk

Around here the flicking of a bic
Illuminates ghoulish faces
Puffing sweet blue cigar smoke
That lingers in a cloud around us.

Bull frogs throat their song
As crickets play violins
For all who care to listen.

We walk.
Along a seemingly dead quiet road
An occasional car thunders by
Its red tail lights lighting up the night sky.

We stop at the crossroads
Leashes in hand.

Careful now
The road is barely lit
by the full white moon.

We turn on a one lane country road
With fields on either side.
Walking down the center of the road
We avoid the possibilities of falling in the ditches.

No one walks in the fields at night
They belong now to coyotes and wild dogs
Who run beside us in the outer layer of the corn stalks
Waiting for a fatal miss-step.

Having just passed an old cemetery
That was once in ruins
Now cleaned up by an Eagle
As his service project.

We stop just beyond the cemetery.
I hand my brother the leash
And walk to the side of the road
Right by the white railing of a small bridge.
I relieve myself.

Taking the leash
We continue to walk
Past country homes spread out
along either side of the road.


We are now in the village
Just a few blocks from where we live
The coolness of the night
Has just started to chill us
To the bareness of our bones
Just as we reach the front lawn
Of our home

Learn more about this author, Richard Polk.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Poetry: Walking?
We want to hear your view. Write now!