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Ken Slaughter


Walking in Grafton

​I heard the tapping of his cane
before we saw him -
an old man in a green shirt


emerging in a scene

of colonial stone walls,
pink flowers,
sunlit trees overflowing with leaves.
 
He could have been Father Time
himself, shuffling his way
inevitably toward us

his cane clicking like a clock.

As he drew closer
I could see the weight

of human history
bearing down on his sagging shoulders

and when he looked up, I noticed
his cheeks looked frozen
in a crooked shape

like a couple of sharp stones
left behind by a glacier
cobbled together
to form a face.

At the moment of our meeting
he surprised us with a smile
as if to defy his own gravity

then pulled an instant

from his pocket of time
and placed it in our hands
 
as a gift from eternity

before going, tapping
on his way.
​
Picture



​​Ken Slaughter's Profile

      Selected Tanka and Senyru


​blank squares
in the crossword puzzle
my brother left
at the cancer clinic…
answers we never find


tiny café -
even in the men’s room
the toilet seat down

​
on a cloudless night
my friend points a finger
at the Big Dipper…
for most of my life
I’ve followed the wrong star

​
​my father
sinking
behind a cloud…
I draw him gently
with a pencil

​her car and mine
joined by jumper cables…
sparks flying


the goodnight kiss
my daughter says…
what she missed
the most
when I left home


​poems
that are never written
deep
in the woods
the song of a thrush


just beyond a road
lined with red and orange leaves
brown walls
…this life
I thought I wanted

​
sunlight slips
through a tangle of trees
after the layoff
not knowing where to go
I take one step
​
​          ♢
​

Selected Tanka And Senyru


scent of rain
rising from the pavement
after a storm
the few things
I still believe 


will I hear it
when it’s my time to go?
my mother’s voice
when the streetlights come on
calling me home 


running late
I take the wrong exit
and my grandson laughs -
he hasn’t yet learned
how to panic
​ ​

a honk behind me
as the red light changes
to green…
I’m half a second slower
than my life 


my penny
sinks to the bottom
of a well …
all the wishes
I never made 


squeezing

lemon into my tea
I chat
with my neighbor…
a little bit goes a long way

on the beach
each piece of glass
a poem
I pick up the small ones
nobody wants 


​game time
and my son can’t find his glove
the smell of dust
as I search for something
to say to my ex-wife 


on a shelf
in her dining room
the red truck
her father bought
hoping for a boy 

drawn deeper
into the woods by the song
of a thrush -
farther down this path
than I wanted to go 


invisible fence
his wife says the dog
will get used to it 


an old friend…
i duck down
the other aisle 
​
​
      ♢

Selected Tanka And Senyru

lying in bed 
no strength to lift 
this day 
a stack of what-ifs 
sitting on my chest




​company ethics
half the truth
above-board


an orange moon
rises over the beach…
holding hands
we see our shadows
in a new light

workplace art
maybe I could paint
after all



shivering together 

we search among the clouds 
for the moon... 
those clear summer nights 
I never even looked



​grey day

the solar farm
gets a day off
a frozen banana
falls to the floor
with a thud...
only in my dreams
could I get so hard​



​labor day

our laid-off neighbor
yells at his cat


squeezing

lemon into my tea
I chat
with my neighbor…
a little bit goes a long way

performance review
I practice by bragging
to my wife



​singing hymns
on Easter Sunday
my faith rises
trying to walk
out of its tomb​

on the wall

sharing my shower…
a spider
let’s pretend, my friend
we never saw each other

Playing Pool With Harold

For this visit
he doesn’t bother wearing the wig.
 
His legs look wooden and thin.
A blue and gray sweatshirt
sags from his shoulders:
he’s always cold.
 
In the basement
we chalk our cue sticks
and reminisce
 
about a problem we solved
in the year end program
at a time when we thought
we were really smart.
 
I rack the balls.
He lines up to break
and all the colors of a rainbow
explode on the table. 

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