Eating and Otherwise
Snap out of it,
crack open a beer,
get on with it.
Thinking of just a few of the dead –
it happens sometimes.
I know of no cause,
nothing special;
not eating something
or opening a window
or – you name it.
They’re just there, face, voice, gesture.
Where to go from there?
To have been close,
then,
unsorted tricks of the mind,
so much crossed out.
I am a clutter, a way station,
a hallelujah
that has not yet been heard.
At Brockway Junction I have stood
where hermits had once been,
where the longest day had just begun.
Frank C. Praeger is a retired biologist who lives in the Keweenaw which is a peninsula that juts out from the northwest corner of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan into Lake Superior. His poetry has appeared in various journals in both UK and USA.