In The End

Poetry by Ted Boughter-Dornfeld Copyright © 2009

It is time to sit out on the dock.

A flash, just under the surface, and
Reddened faces are frantic again,
Focused on fishing out that rare specimen.
A fillet of words will simmer above the fire, tonight.

Did you mimic famous styles,
Or make lightning a memory?
Have you added new layers of brick
Atop the older ones?
If you’re inspired, will you write it down?
Did you hum atop the mountain’s side,
Or summit the crests in time?
Did you get lost around kaleidoscopic corners?
If you did, don’t worry.
Coroners will make you look nice.

Do you want a gravestone when you die?
Will your last thoughts be for our country?
Is your blood red?
Is your paper white?
Is your ink blue?
Does your pen beg to bleed through sheets?
Will you remember what teachers said?
If you did,
Will it matter?
If you didn’t,
I hope that you brought a tape-recorder.

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