That one June...

June, 2007, was a strange month for me. I was in a place, both emotionally and physically, different than I had been in before. I took a class that Summer that asked me to write poems and stories, more so, to learn the craft of doing so. I cannot say I was ever that astute to such things, but I tried. So, before I delve into a blog post being crafted for later this week, I'll leave you with an old poem....

The tan fingers wrapped firmly

around a silver, ridged flask

as a child clinging to his mother.

The cerulean silk kerchief peering

from the satin-lined breast pocket

of a tatty dinner jacket

draped carelessly in stupor

over a sun-bleached wicker chair.

The hush crackle of a

Duke Ellington record spinning

heavy notes through the torn screen door.

The sequential taps of leather shoes

meandering to the olive sofa

a resting place for hazy dejection.