Tin Can Blues

I walked alone twenty one and a half steps
without a glance
back into the musty darkened room
full of ticking time and dulled jewels.
Drawn blinds shroud
the light outside of the shelter -
and in my view a slow growing
white crack divides the broken window.
The shatter rings on and on
inside of a rusted tin can...
Next to me, weaping dreams take over
the static river’s conscience
I can’t swim.
This invisible regret
of strange, cool, shimmering liquids
flooding my waning winter
Weighting down my clever desguise -
I fall deeper inside
the rusted tin can’s echoing lonesome.
A child’s cry persists
draping my forgotten consciousness
and I pry myself out
from underneath the weathered stone.
Shakes and rattles resound and
the tin can is set free
I roll with it down a frost heaved plank,
into a bright silent moment underneath
reflections of a misplaced innocence
In a child’s shining smile
A silent melody dances
to the tune of the tin can’s blues


B.L.
October 30, 2009