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I took a walk and
thought I’d look for a
poem. The trees
were silent, the heat
refused to speak.

I walked my usual
route with weights
carrying my make
believe Army canteen.

The belt I wear has
chap stick, my keys
dangling from a hook,
a BPA free stainless
steel bottle, and a
No phone.

No, it’s not an Army
canteen, but on my belt,
it sits on the right side
over my butt and when
I put it back in its holder,
it makes an Army sound,
has the Army feel I miss.

It’s easy to think of butt
packs, the smell of canvas,
Army smells, Army places,
and more. I’m there. Helps
take my mind off things.

Two cul-de-sacs, then a
long stretch in the open
area between the two small
hills. No poem here. Just
hot wind.

I only take three sips of
cold water at a time. A
car passes me. Good, I’m
still invisible as ever.

I thought I saw a snake
but it didn’t move. No,
another one. Didn’t move
either. I got closer. Just
irrigation lines running
from bush to bush.

Good thing. I hate snakes
on the ground and in my
head. There are snakes
coiled up on the inside.

When I was a kid, soon
never came, just snakes.
I wanted it to end; I
wanted soon to come.
Snakes and more snakes.

The last incline on a main
road, then three more
cul-de-sacs before I turn
off and down toward the
last cul-de-sac.

Walking earlier than
usual. Only 100 degrees
and it’s too early for the

A few sips left. Ice just
about gone. Top of the
bottle is hot from the

The snakes will be
gone soon. As in gone
forever, I hope. What else
will be soon?

I’ll find the poem I was
looking for. Not this one.

I put my key in the door;
snakes flee and Army
memories recede.

Then returns to now.
Everything will be okay


Other things will be soon;
I just can’t say what they
are. Don’t know.

Soon is on the horizon.
Snakes stir. Something
is coming. Real soon.

I don’t sweat when I walk;
just a little bit after. Too
vigilant to sweat.

You stop sweating when
you live where the hour
strikes every minute,
where soon becomes
now, and now is terror
making time stand still.

Nightmares not so often
anymore. Endless thinking
I hope will end soon.

Faith is a place where
snakes are not synonymous
with soon, and soon is
merely soon, a welcome
increment of time.

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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