The Balloon Walkers
They can be observed, suspended in air
for miles around, the tiny figures
dancing across a wire, poised between
the bulbous royal blue spheres
(a man told me once how he moved on
from the loss of his wife by writing
her name on a balloon and letting it go)
All is fine and well for walkers until
a sheer wind rose through, the barest
turn and, seconds later, chutes opened
skydancers dropping to some safety.
Master of the Backyard
Squeal of insect or rattle
of neighbor, knocking of the tree
sounds, invaders not welcome here
Can’t you see the posted signs?
So, to the rodent, I offer impaling
On the spike of my small ego.
Pedagogue
He is now climbing the tree, tasting
the sky, and now edging sideways
out onto the slick rock, held up only
by a single twig, asking about origins
of waterfalls, and now reading
about Dresden, now reciting Lilith myths,
now standing, clapping, pontificating
measuring the content of young minds,
lapping the stream of consciousness
like a well-dressed canine.
—
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His writing has appeared in a number of journal publications, including Eye On Life Magazine, The Commonline Journal, and The Literary Yard.
