February 14

Painting by Ron Adler


February 14


An old man came to see me
in the lunchroom, splattered
his shadow all over my mashed
potatoes, obliterated my shepherd's
pie completely, and said sight
is an illusion, hearing the easiest
sense to fool, the feeling of time
falling from one's shoulders is simply
gravity releasing the body to drift.

I had no juice left, nothing
to convince him otherwise. Comfort,
I said, comfort will save us.
He smiled, shook his head, guffawed
loudly as though I'd farted
on his mother's prize pudding,
turned on his heel and walked away,
muttering about youth, politics, style.
Corruption, I yelled, waste,
oppression, greed, all of these things
are yours, for myself I reserve only
prompt potatoes.

C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Neon Magazine