Didn’t attend your funeral.
Remembered you. Evening
settled cautiously. On the front porch
my son found a dragonfly
dying on the concrete in the light
from a voyeur moon behind cloud swells
announcing themselves with rolling tympany
through black silhouette hills
visible in echo and strobe.
Wondered if they buried you in those clothes
you borrowed from Shaggy’s closet.
You never returned them.
You tended a hermits fantasy. Had a short life.
I’m not so opposed, so to say.
Dragonfly
America, beer, bees, bird, birds, bummer, canyon, cars, coffee, cook, death, desert, desperate, desperation, discomfort, drink, drugs, drugs and alcohol, drunk, ease, fallout, food, furniture, gender, happiness, hiking, home, hope, humans, jail, kicked out, kids, lessons, love, lovers, lust, man, marriage, men, messy, naked, nature, nude, object, one night stand, our time, our town, peace, people, poem, Poems, poet, poetry, poets, power, punk, punk rock, Review, sadness, scorpions, secrets, sex, shit, small towns, spiders, suicide, symbols, the west, time, truth, voyeur, vulnerability, vulnerable, war, work, workers, working, writing
About Me
A poet-chef living in Denver, Co. I use the orange Aquafresh toothpaste, off brand mouthwash, and those little floss picks.
Daniel E Haislet 
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