Circa 1956

When the world was small

my heroes were big

living on a 12’’ screen

the telephone operator knew me by name

when the party line was open and free

on Tuesdays it was the bread man

on Wednesdays came meat

Friday mornings the Fuller Brush man rang twice

Saturdays were baseball, bleacher seats for a buck

and on Sunday to church on my bike

when on Monday the Nun asked where the black eye was from

I smiled and said “ran into a door”

while all the while knowing this was the time of my life

—a time when the world was so small

 

(Conshohocken Pennsylvania: March, 2021)

The Final Storm

I lay dreaming as the yardarms howl with ghosts

  upon the wind,

screaming down: “Your crew is lost, it’s mutiny once more”

 

One voice to dare my choices strong

and shed that bitter sleep,

my past the drowning child of its dark and rocky shoals

 

As tears release and fall like rain the tiller

begs forgiveness,

old memories drift away in fear and sink within themselves

 

The time has come, as fate calls out to man the heavy sails

and chart a course into the swells

—one final storm to brave

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)

Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm