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Scot Young, US
 

 

 

 

Free Verse

 

Common Loons of Chequamegon Bay

 

there is comfort
when the loons return
to this superior lake
eerie night yodel
echoes
mournful wails
across the apostles

wake the ghosts
of scattered
shipwrecks
marked by
mooring
buoys

in july cold
dream wrapped
in flannel sheets
and quilts
we believe
they mate
for life
as they call
the names
of the lost

 

 

Waiting for the Christmas

 

most days
it was always
like waiting
for Christmas
the anticipation
of opening presents
leave it to beaver style

was superseded
by peaking out
the curtain waiting
for headlights coming
down the street
that came
too late
too drunk
too many times

with the unsaid
promise
that things
would be different
next year
when the world
sobered up
under
the star
of Bethlehem

 

 

 

 

             

 

 

 

 

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