Poetry

in silence

by: John Sweet

you leave the gun where
the child will find it

you open the door
and no one's there

the street empty
in both directions and
the air heavy with the stench
of gasoline

the sun low
and without hope in
a vast grey sky and so
you drive

write worthless poems in
cheap motel rooms

know nothing other than
america
and can only be lost
because of it

can only be
the father of a boy who
will be dead before
his fifth birthday

every house you arrive at
already locked
against your return