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Poetry By
  R.D. Leack

Published on: 9/12/2012
A Midwinter Night's Sleep

It's Christmas again,
And the party's dying down.
Drunk and red-faced,
The bank manager dozes
On the diving board,
Bending it with his rotundity so
The tip dips into the cool pool,
Until someone nudges him
And he awakes at the bottom
Of the deep end drinking
Chlorinated water from
A beer can.
Tomorrow he'll service
Your home loan.

Published on: 9/12/2012
Magic Mirror

The dream is with me,
real, unreal, here and gone.
I open the shutters. Rainy streets.
Through a window, I see you pass.
Was that a wave? Thunder strikes.
Drivers stare onward.
Semi trucks shift gears, the bass
of the clutch shaking walls.
Fog on the street, on the passersby.
They push shopping carts
filled with black bags.

Was that a wave?
A black car. A blue one.
Which color is yours?
Was it you who passed in the
moment the thunder struck,
when I looked up and watched
the sky electrocute itself?

But I see you in the dream.
I stare at you in mirrors.
How many mirrors away are you?

Stop lights fail. People go nowhere.
A mathematical marvel.
I think I see you among the cars.
The window fogs up. Mine or yours?
Rain drops cloud my sight.

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