Narrated by John Reinhart
here he stopped,
leaned on his gnarled staff,
scratched his beard,
a tired old man,
tired of carrying
and caring
four winds
not at his back
but his beck –
north, the chill of spurned love,
cold coffee, second chances spoiled
west, full of promise, forgetfulness,
fire, emptiness
south, like summer, to ease,
too easy, never quite enough, dizzying
east, blowing the tides of time,
ill of late, possibly dying
with a satisfying fart, he lurched
forward, grunted, and was on his way
again –
father of four unruly children
Author Bio: Native of northwest Denver before boutiques replaced roughage, John Reinhart is a former state fiddle champion, state rhythm guitar champion, one time northeast regional yo-yo champion, and defender of the discarded. He lives with his wife, children, and a small menagerie. His poetry has recently been published in 94 Creations, Apeiron Review, Black Heart Magazine, Poetry Nook Magazine, Songs of Eretz, Star*Line, and The Vocabula Review. Look for more of his work soon in Grievous Angel, Scifaikuest, and Silver Blade.