Archive for the ‘Rob Dyer’ Category

burning triangle by Rob Dyer

146 dead
into the night
they refused exhaustion
as each shift paid due respect
recovering reminders
a fur trimmed hat with a burnt rose,
pinned to her head
Jesus melted in a soft hand
a mother molded to the chair
she lived in

122 of the fairer sex
most untouched yet, new
on a distant shore
back home, ovens of Death
were never to be known
as they burned at the hands of greed
behind doors locked to keep them

62 surrendered to the ledge
as concrete certainties waited
a kiss good bye and a hand to hold
before undeniable heat claimed them
and remnants of bones shattered
amongst ashen flesh, tightly bonded

4 hundred dollars per soul
the collective value paid
as the brothers grim moved on
their measurable risks rewarded
as checks cleared allowing them
to live far from the smell
of the crimes no one could prove

1 woman
determined to earn the rights
for the ashes to speak
so tommorow’s hands were free
to care for theirs, without care
or concern for a notion of peace
as they toiled to survive

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Brian by Rob Dyer

Brian, was an animal
looked like one and acted like one
his face, dented and scarred,
a result of too much interaction with oak trees
while under the influence of Methaqualone

I watched his way with women, his only way
“hey, you wanna fuck?”,
it was a question asked without fear,
with confidence, with a sad knowledge,
that there were no other options for him

he swore his batting average was .100
1 out of 10…10% SAID YES

and there I was, clever and polite, offering humor and beer
for entertainment purposes

I would have been thrilled to bat .100

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James by Rob Dyer

the stench was of truth
rancid realities that held him there
holding translucent ignorance
for those passing

sure, they only threw pennies,
he collected each
his diminished self reflected
in the dank gutter
flowing with life

obscene to many, perfect sense
is all he knew

I cashed my last check
hurried to invite him to more
needing to relieve my uselessness

as Bourbon Street assaulted me,
I turned to avoid uniformed trouble
reaching in last years denim
ready to make my life better
I held in my tired teen hands
an offering he would never forget
only to find a sign

his name was James, apparently
for the cardboard wreath
cut in to floral shapes
said as much
R.I.P. James
December 25, 1971

I never found the words
until now
but he denied me the chance
to forgive myself for being
more than I thought he was

thank you, James

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