Rusty Chair


I do my deep thinking on a rusty chair

By the ocean with no cell phone service.

Yesterday, I remembered the runaway truck,

Plowing through a spent cornfield

Just east of my childhood.

Didn’t scream back then,

I was young with time

To right the ship.

Now that I’m old,

I sit on this rusty chair

And laugh at all the times I did scream

And no one heard me,

Just like no one hears me now.

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