The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 7 | Page 9

5

Road Through Midnight

The road through midnight

twists around Illinois Mountain,

especially when I’m wasted

and there’s no moon at all,

only the distant porch lights

of a few lonely houses,

the night so dark the deer

just seems to appear,

a mountain deer on his knees,

springtime acrobatics,

the buds engorged with blood.

Birdsong

1

The seabirds

that dive-

bomb for fish

only seem

to be crying,

Sorry, sorry.

2

His baseball cap said

Vietnam Vet on the front,

but birds don’t care

whose head they crap on.