A Poet Is Born

thirty three dogs wailed without harmony,
nearby, their break dancing trainer oblivious to

anything that moved in slow motion and without colour,
as one location became another, my guardian angel

watched me cry, because I ate a banana
that wasn’t mine, I hid your keys, but you went anyway:

across the way, a little girl clung to a door knob,
flooding the house, with tears from emotional threats,

next door, another girl celebrated her twelfth birthday,
while police arrested her mother, naked, but for a slip,

even fire ants burning my legs, while no one was looking,
was better than torment, when left on my own,

I found company, with an artist, that had a lobotomy,
she couldn’t talk but taught with her pictures,

there was that woman with Alzheimers that walked,
the streets with talk of hiking in mountains that didn’t exist.

-L.J. Lenehan-

Dorothea Barth Jörgensen by Dennis Golonka (Age Of Innocence - Un-Titled Project #5 Spring-Summer 20 (3)


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