A Poem by Larry D. Thacker

I worry a little

that the more I mess around

in my outdoor environment suit,

the better chance there is

I’ll break a pressure seal,

or some other deadly accident.

Three-million dollars

gets you an engineer’s suit,

not a poet’s for wandering

the dunes and rock hills

chasing your ghost muse.

It’s built for the slow,

meticulous sort of work.

Procedural: Problem.

Bolt. Nut. Hardware choice.

Mechanical movement

of the body, dancing

with the broken machine

that must be up and running

to continue keeping you alive.

But again, I want to skip rocks –

nice, perfectly flat ones,

from this ancient riverbed –

as hard as I can out against

that mirage so tricking the eyes,

like fresh water. All the while

knowing this suit isn’t designed

for such work.

….

This poem is from the book NEW RED WORDS by Larry D. Thacker (Finishing Line Press), and is available at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/new-red-words-by-larry-d-thacker/

Larry D. Thacker