A boy becomes a man.
Along the line,
life grabs him, rattles his innards
like a wooden roller coaster catapulting him into the jaws
of a treacherous society.
As this becomes clear, a reality,
a game if you will,
one he cannot win no matter the effort
or how sly he’s become, begins.
Only then does the risk
become the fuel to survive,
–C. L. Swinney (c) 2017
Your tainted mouth kills
my ears, my heart, my weary
soul and words have failed.
(c) C. L. Swinney 2016
The air is clear up there, they said.
Big becomes small, drama left behind, they said.
But what of the terrified child,
the one who’s never done this before?
But what of the foreigner,
the one who needs deodorant, like right now?
But what of the business man,
the one who’s talking over the safety spiel?
But what of the obese man,
the one who’s rattling my brain with his walrus tongue?
But what of the distracted stewardess,
the one who’s hips slam my not-so-funny bone?
And closer to home, what of the two boys, the ones arguing
for technology with rolling eyes like Vegas slot machines?
Charlie Brown’s teacher mumbles something, then we descend.
Wheels search, then grab, pavement. I crave coffee. Its embrace
obliterates the lousy flight, and instantly I’m grounded once again.
C. L. Swinney (c) 2015