Poetry by Chas Holden ∫ Art by Jonathon Prestidge
You had a fair warning: panting and
footpads from around the blind bend.
Beauty runs right at you—
dressed in form-fitting spandex,
naked as a stranger will ever willingly
be. It’s all you can do
to look down
at your feet.
Dedication for an Improvised Playground
On the bleached ribs of wrecked ships
let children play. Let them
rouge their cheeks with rust.
No better way to train
for a life spent
climbing & sliding the ruins left
by the Selfish and Soon-Dead.
On the Occasion of Wishing I were Somewhere Else
stiller when watching
trees writhe outside.
Likewise, I never notice our silence
till laughter drifts in the window.