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Three
Poems
By Pete
Reilly
Flying
He
was propped against
the
chain link fence
in
the corner of the playground;
wrapped
in stained rags,
his
legs splayed
on
the asphalt
before
him.
“Hey
you!”
I
stepped closer.
The
grey wind blew
a
few lost leaves
in
wild circles.
“I
only done it once
when
I was a kid;
but you
do it once;
you
don’t forget.”
A
nicotine stained finger
emerged
from under
his
blanket
and
pointed at me.
“You
want to fly,
got
to put your arms out
shoulder
height, palms down,
and
run like Hell.
Run
so fast
your
eyes water.
Don’t
matter if you look silly,
or
your friends laugh,
or
fall behind;
you
got to keep runnin’.
It’s
the only way
you’ll
ever get off the ground.”
He
spoke above the barking dogs,
the
sleepy commuter traffic,
the
chaotic dance
of
the dead leaves;
his
voice a sledge.
“You
ain’t gonna fly to the moon,
orbit
the earth or nothin’,
probably
get a foot or two
off
the ground
if
you’re lucky;
because
even if you can’t see it,
there's
a thread tying us down
to
this good earth
so
we don't up and blow away
like
some lost balloon,
and
end up God knows where.
When
your feet leave the ground,
keep
your eyes up,
or
close ‘em, if you’d like.
It
ain’t gonna last long;
so
feel it;
remember
it.”
He
pulled the blanket
close
around his neck
and
dropped his voice
to
a whisper.
“Like
I said,
I
only done it once,
and
it was a long time ago.”
That
night
a
blast of cold air
blew
him away,
with
the leaves,
the
sky,
and
the barking dogs.
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