Today I took inventory of the clouds.
Unicorns, angels, grand ships
filled with dreams and woes.
At my feet an ant struggled home,
an umbrella of leaf blocking the sky.
Poor blighter to labour so.
Who’s the greater fool.
I wonder, he or I?
What happened to the poem I was writing? So sad that it was lost.
A wrong keystroke, a command not meant, and the words are gone,
but not the thought. She sang outside the symphony, auditioning
for charity. We passed her by with gritted teeth
and wished her voice somewhere closer to the key.
Did her parents try to warn her? Did her teacher say,
“Well, no, you’ll have no future with your voice upon the stage.”
Still she wails out her songs to those who come along
and hopes for some response, a coin tossed in her box.
We passed her by, you and I; but not without a glance
to see emotions fly across her face: the meanings
of her song, the notes that she hit wrong, or just the fleeting hope
that we would stop and toss a coin into that empty box?
Love in the Time of Transportation
He spends the weekend in nervous anticipation,
with one great question gnawing, one obsession:
Will she board his train, the six-ten, at the next station?
For three years he has indulged this fanciful flirtation,
Monday through Friday on shared public transportation
Daily, daring rejection, he saves her a seat that she has never taken.
Falling in love again? Perhaps his dogged devotion is mistaken.
Perhaps she never loved him back; there is no shared affection.
What matter such consideration when there is such wonderful anticipation?
Having retired from a career in psychology, Ken Weene turned to his dream profession: novelist. With four novels currently available and a fifth coming soon, he still loves writing. Ken can be found on social media or via his website, www.kennethweene.com. To find his books, visit his Amazon page.