Prince Albert

It's Prince Albert
looking
over the vast dominions,
offshore balancing it is,

or is it just a can,
rusty,
red,
long discarded amongst the pines,
East Texas pines,

still a hint of tobacco,
long smoked
when the train still pushed through.

By Benjamin Nash

Bedtime

8:00 p.m. Still light out. I hear them
playing, their shouting and laughter.
Not me though, sent to bed on schedule,
(and not even tired!) sighing and twisting
in cotton sheets Mom dried on the line.
Lawn mower blades churn—Mr. Harrison, next door?
There’s Kelly McGrotha two doors down,
tossing a baseball with his big brother.
Is that Ann Swenson bouncing her
red rubber kickball against their garage door?
Miss Lillian Matson is yelling for her Pekinese,
Yen-Tu, to come in for the night.
And me, alone and apart, stuck inside
this solid safe trap of a house.

By Terry Martin