I wish that all the hours I’ve spent with bores
in heated arguments were mine again.
I’d pack them in a cooler for the shore —
those precious minutes chilled like frosted gin.
Beyond the dunes I’d spread a blanket out
and watch the bobbing heads as old men swim.
Quick shadows fall from kites as children shout
and run along the breaking foam and skim.
And feeling generous I’d freely give
some fifteen minutes that I’ve stashed away
to anyone I fancied — let them live
or squander what they have before the day
has swallowed them in traffic, noise and heat,
or watched it pass in heartache, beat by beat.
Rob Wright was awarded Fellowships in Literature from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts (2005 and 2007) and was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He has published short stories, book reviews, and poetry in Able Muse, Angle, Big City Lit, The Evansville Review, Rattle, String Poet, and the Schuylkill Valley Journal of the Arts. Recently he was awarded the Frost Prize for Metrical Poetry.
First published in Measure Volume 13, Issues 1 & 2