On the way to the town dump
The junk in the back jostles in the turn.
Dark blue clouds curtain rain down.
I pull onto the miry dirt road
leaning one-story screens
Where dark birds and wrens perch
But launch to flight as I pass and reverse.
Backing up the Sienna to the trash heap
I get out and step in the hogged mud,
Throw out the old bed banisters
A rusted bike, worn shirts and 'genes,'
All my grouchy frustration;
Yes and my
enlarged head tilted
With church dogma, loads of heavy fact,
And too many years of clouded regret.
Driving home—so empty and satisfied.
Daniel Wilcox earned his B.A. in Creative Writing from Cal State University, Long Beach. He grew up in the Midwest, but has lived many places since from the Middle East to Montana. His writing has appeared in The Other Side Magazine, various poetry journals such as The Writer's Eye, Right Hand Pointing, The November 3rd Club, and The Externalist. A short story dealing with the theme of religion in the Middle East was published in the September 2007 issue of The Danforth Review. His writer's website is at http://seaquaker.com.