Gerald Yelle
has worked as a computer operator and customer service representative.
Currently, he teaches high school English.
Recent poems have appeared in
88,
Samizdada,
and
Thunder Sandwich.
Gerald Yelle
Interlocutor With Balloon
On the way to the young child’s party a dog runs
out and there’s no time to stop
and you hit it. It slides thirty feet on salted snowy road while spinning on its
side.
I check the ditch. You knock at the neighbor’s. But it’s gone. Gone to die in
snow without words. Nestled under sheets and sheets in light and heavy beds.
Reunited with its mate its mother litter siblings death the best a dog can hope
expect. Blood red winter letting bankers sweep the walks and fill the sheds with
coal. Dead as your grieving the death of a dog giving nothing but love not
having any other way to hurt you and she ran in front of a car –not a death she
freely chose but hearts hold only so much grief. You could be ten and afraid of
death again if your luck ran out. Let’s go to the party. I’ll cut loose a
balloon.
You tell me where you want it tethered. What you want it tied to. I’ll hitch it
to
the moon and reach you down a fountain full of swallows.
