No need to take any notice.
I’m just passing through; you’re just passing by.
Walking your easy streets,
one wrong turn from my hard road.
I am just some broken cement or
an icy patch in winter . Walk around me
like you would a fallen log
lest I become kindling
to stoke the fires of your worried dreams.
I will wrap myself in the shreds of my dignity
while you pull your coat tighter
to hide your helpless heart.
I will become a snowy dove
perched in a white-blossoming dogwood.
About the Author
Paul Bluestein is a physician (done practicing), a blues guitar player (still practicing) and a dedicated Scrabble player (yes, ZAX is a word). He currently lives in Connecticut with his wife and the two dogs who rescued him. Nearby, there is a beach where he can let his mind off the leash to go where it wants. He is grateful that, thus far, it has always come back, sometimes with an interesting idea in its jaws.
Although he has written poetry for many years, he did not submit any of his work for publication until last year. Since then, he’s been fortunate to have had more than 40 poems accepted for publication.