Like dropped noodles the drowned worms
lie elongated, dying on the tar
of the Mariner's Cove mini-golf parking lot.
The still-living undulate in search of soil
nowhere within reach, the night's rain floods
having carried them yards away from the land
from whence they came.
By day's end they will be scavenged by gulls and
crackles and crows. The endless tunneling and
displacing of earth through the tubes
of their bodies is over. The asphalt is ungiving,
indifferent to their last burrowing instincts.
And even if they could get
to the mini-putt course,
the holes are plastic lined,
impenetrable, and the synthetic sod
is glued to the concrete fairways.
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copyright Guelph Mercury - Dave Carter
Jerry @ Wally's by Mo Kauffey
Home for musings and poetry.
Rhyme of the Ancient Marinade
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copyright Guelph Mercury - Dave Carter
The Holy Fool
- Jerry Prager
- A former community newspaper editor, published poet, improv musician, playwright, historian, chef, canoe trip guide and stone worker, actor, dancer and under-employed jack-of many trades.
A Capella
Jerry @ Wally's by Mo Kauffey
The Ironworker's Kid
My father was an ironworker,
high steel molten man,
left my mother via an AA liaison that left him
a further love on now in Saskatchewan.
The son of the son of unions,
the strike organized kind,
a sober anonymous saint now
undoing your lifetime of harms.
Ironworker's kid,
I got I-beams in my eyes,
standing on this height,
foot slips from falling,
my father, O father
on Father's Day recalling.
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Copyright for poetry and lyrics belongs to Jerry Prager.
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