Chris Ingram


If I notice the neighbor drags out her clinking recyclables
Only after dark

Am I observing only the action
Or confirming preconceptions

About darkness
And shame;

Bottles drained of their ability to beat back both.

Would I notice her clockwork forays
To the curb, shadow cast by the automatic garage door light

If I didn’t first proceed from presumption
Learned from parents; George and Martha

On the lookout for what in others
I fear to see in me

Desperate thirst
Never slaked

The windowpane asks who I think I’m watching.

© Chris Ingram

Chris Ingram was born in St Louis, Missouri in 1961. Raised in Oyster Bay Cove, Long Island, he followed his father, Dan, into broadcasting. Chris spent over thirty years in that field, mostly as a newsman in markets of every size and at CBS News in New York. He has also been a radio disc jockey, cook, truck driver, and a high school wrestling coach. Chris now resides outside Philadelphia, working on numerous writing projects in divers genres.

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