In my dark alley is
the sound of the locust singing,
as the lightening bug lightens
the nights vail with the common thread
of the innocent wonder.
A light in the sound that touches down
upon all that awe
with the smell of the Tiger Lily,
the Tulip,
and the Lilac Bush.
When the scuff from a soiled shoe,
taps its toe on the hue of
a summers moon to leave my hearts beat
upon the gravel.
Where as, when all the soldiers died
before me, ‘a caterpillar’ along a climbing vine
took a leap into a butterfly.
And, on the only tree which I could call, ‘mine growing’,
in the back-yard of a neighbor,
began to spin its cocoon with the silk
of the noon-day shade.
And, took a solemn vow to sleep until
a wing could fly.
My neighbor, now in my ear,
has never been heard a friend,
walking in the dim light alone.
For,
in every shadow of my dark alley,
is found another friend,
willing to do another
a favor.
Well, you don’t tease a drunk
in a dark alley.
Kenneth M. Loschen