The Current Situation
I never think of
troubles scattered behind—
generic bores, the boss
and wife from Hell.
Listening to people
I drank with, used to dare,
I remember juggling coins for beer,
wearing sunglasses in tornado rain.
I recall Salvation Army pants,
Goodwill shirts for retail work.
In a discard nation–
red light impatience
speeding city intersections,
I adjust my ear to a newer confusion.
Epiphany to be worked out,
I’m streaming an atheist orphan’s story,
determining margins for deliverance
over touring misadventures.
Forgetting vanity’s touch,
I sleep on my side,
moonlight through streetlight
stirring on my face.
Like refuse thrown from a car,
history strikes hard:
street names on correspondence
startle with starkest regret,
a desert-dried tombstone cracks
along the anniversary date.
Voices lower at night,
soften like skin underwater.
A narrative in possessions is nothing
but wound badges, a broken bed.
© R.T. Castleberry
R.T. Castleberry, a Pushcart Prize nominee, has work in Vita Brevis, San Pedro River Review, Trajectory, Silk Road, StepAway, and Sylvia. Internationally, he’s had poetry published in Canada, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, France, New Zealand, Portugal, the Philippines, India, and Antarctica. His poetry has appeared in the anthologies: You Can Hear the Ocean: An Anthology of Classic and Current Poetry, TimeSlice, The Weight of Addition, and Level Land: Poetry For and About the I35 Corridor.
The Loch Raven Review 