Hiding in the shadows just around the next curve in the
road is the empty space I thought was floating face
down in a ditch with my morality and sense of direction.
A roadster won’t go fast enough to keep it from trying to
hop in the passenger seat at 80 mph, or following like a shadow
when I eat, drink and prowl, just close enough to be noticed.

The percentage of nothing I now live in where all your
dreams come true is only a little bit to the left of where
memories are alive of a beautiful lie wearing a filthy dress.
Click your ruby slippers and say, “there’s no place like home”,
Dorothy, but when you open your eyes don’t be surprised if
Auntie Em already wrote you off and rented out your room.

Just like the remnants of a trip are washed away in the shower
when the suds pull even the feel of the seat down the drain,
any lasting trace of my presence here has long since gurgled away.
A bit like a roadster, which is but an enjoyable diversion that will
serve its use and end up on a junk heap next to Volkswagens
and other abandoned toss offs that are no longer wanted.

- by Steve McKennon, 9/9/2005
 


**I just realized I never posted this one here. In 2005 I participated in a show called "the Pen and Pencil" where several local poets were matched with members of a local coloured pencil society in Virginia. We produced an original poem based on one of their existing works and they did the same for one of our poems. This is my contribution that was based on Cathy Heller's drawing, "End of a Bug's Life", which can be viewed at:
 
http://www.cpsa109.org/poets/heller.htm

There were several really cool exhibits, which may be viewed at:

http://www.cpsa109.org/poets/index.htm

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