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Solo Flyer # 52: Dave Huthmacher
Exhaust
She turns to the bedroom clock and sees that it’s only four-fifteen in the morning. Her hand searches for the remote control she placed on the nightstand only hours before. The darkness is killed by the blue glow of the television.
he left two years ago woke up one morning and drove away in the SUV with two suitcases and a cardboard box in the back never looked to see if she was watching the exhaust drifted through the morning air and the sun missed her skin as the autumn wind blew the leaves and the neighbor’s garbage around
She flips channels, but all she can taste is exhaust.
EVERY WEDNESDAY
two coffee mugs
swing like a pendulums to our mouths
as we fit words between swallows
I look past you
through the street window
watching people parade by
you look over my shoulder,
rereading the chalkboard menu,
noticing several times that it’s cracked
Your words blur together
as I nod
in rhythm with your mouth
you do the same,
pretending to hang on every word,
smiling when I smile
BIRTH
A circle of arms move above my wife's
glistening shape under white hot lights.
(Behind us the TV is on and the nurse,
who will be the first to wash my daughter,
is watching the news.)
I'm touching one of my wife’s legs, watching, waiting.
The doctor lifts my daughter up,
like some ancient ritual,
and hands her to her mother,
who has just experienced an emotion I've never seen before.
OCTOBER OPEN HOUSE
Trick or treat time again...
I sit at my teacher desk and try to look busy, waiting for them to arrive.
I wear my mask—a broad, happy smile I keep on for everyone. They wear masks too—a concerned but pleasant one they all seem to find at the same store.
Parents come looking for treats, and I give them out freely at the beginning of the year.
I toss out a he's a pleasure to have in class or a she's very polite. I even have a few I don’t anticipate any problems for those parents I know I’ll see again.
They leave happy, masks still on.
I close the door and take mine off.
LIFEGUARDS AREN’T METEOROLOGISTS
Long before the clouds gathered
he sat in his chair rehearsing.
Turning,
again,
he studied the solar light alive in her hair.
Then the sun disappeared,
the clouds gave in,
and the rain fell down in heavy lines.
Copyright, 2007, David Huthmacher
North Canton, Ohio
davehuthmacher@yahoo.com
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Copyright © 2007 David B McCoy. All Rights Reserved