R-E-S-P-E-C-T
by Dan Carpenter
by Dan Carpenter
Every
day the probability grows stronger
that
someone I last met trading jumpshots and elbows on grimy blacktop
or
kisses on a secondhand sofa in an off-campus dump
is
dead now
for
it hasn’t been a month or a year
and
don’t think I can’t tell what is from what seems
four
decades are a boulder
fallen
across a mountain highway spiraling down
having
this time missed me
but
not the entire caravan
it
waits
ahead
or behind
for
me to drive on
work
around get out and climb over proceed on foot
backing
up being no option
but
there’s one other
maybe
you know I’ll just sit here in idle
let
the ’71 Beetle purr its contentment
light
the Marlboro I swore off in ’85
flip
on the radio and play it safe
not
one
not
one beat
will
Aretha ever miss
From
Dan Carpenter:
“I’m a freelance writer in many genres, born and residing in
Indianapolis.I have published poems in Flying Island, Poetry East,
Illuminations, Pearl, Xavier Review, Southern Indiana Review and
other journals. I have published two books of poems, The
Art He’d Sell for Love (Cherry
Grove, 2015) and More
Than I Could See (Restoration,
2009).”