poem: Isolation, Part 9: Coffee Filter Salvation
Clowning up as suburban bandits
We three stumble into the empty park,
Breathing through coffee filters
Tucked away in cotton life-preservers
And there we conduct a baseball season
Tossing, though never catching,
A ball between the rising Violets and Chickweed.
Bouncing off ankles and wrists
Our cowhide sphere
Ricochets away in a Blue Ridge wind,
Its red stitches angrily tattooing flesh
Plunking wounds for dinner banter.
God! This is excruciatingly fun.
White county sheriff cars saunter by
Hovering in corners like pale spiders,
Declaring: “No more than 10 bandits per park,”
Though never uttering such syntax.
So we hunker away on our hillside.
Wave to midday dog walkers
Rustle up webby pasta with sauce
And enter the night for a kip divided.
Les Epstein is a poet, playwright and opera librettist. His work has appeared in journals in the United States, Philippines, India and the U.K.Recent credits include Eyedrum Periodically, Interstice, Mojave River Review, Clinch Mountain Review, Jelly Bucket and Saudade. Cyberwit recently released a collection of his short plays and libretti (Seven).His poems were recently featured in the podcast, “Sunflower Sutras,” broadcast out of Washburn University.He teaches in Roanoke, VA.