By Mark Jackley
Our wrinkled faces,
spoilt fruit.
Your wicked smile,
the trace
of a bee lifting
towards next spring.
HOLDING A LIQUIDATION SIGN BY THE SIDE OF ROAD
Children stare
and parents shake their heads. I have learned
what wisdom is: the gift
I never wanted, given
under one condition. Everything must go.
DRIVING INTO A TELEPHONE POLE IN THE PENTAGON PARKING LOT
Two a.m., blind with drink.
This was in between wars. Saluting, hubris reared its head,
and cracked mine.
Mark Jackley’s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, and other journals.
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Beautiful
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Thanks for sharing. This is a fine poem. I wish I had written “the trace of a bee lifting toward next spring.”
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