The pulp and paper mill’s siren
wailed like an old blues guitar
I acquiesced reluctantly
when the only flowers
that I could afford
were Wild Irish Roses
It was only supposed to be
until I got back on my feet
Fast forward a dozen years
and I’m the hiring man now
In the bone silence
of another midnight blue
filled with prolonged tedium,
dragonflies hiss outside my window
They exude a mocking tone
almost as if they know
Inertia clings to me
like ivory on a trellis
Whatever happened to the man
who dreamed of being Elvis?
The minutiae of living
rarely goes as planned
Michael N. Thompson likes bacon, fantasy football and Doctor Who. His poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals including Word Riot, Toronto Quarterly and San Pedro River Review. He is the author of four poetry collections. His fifth, Days Of Swine And Roses, will be released through University Of Hell Press in 2017. Michael is currently at work on a crime fiction novel. http://www.michaelnthompson.com
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