by Stephen Jarrell Williams
Out in the park trees, night pushing down cold,
the giant on his back, hairy naked, immune.
He's ten stories high as he stands:
the treetops to his knees, he pees,
yawns, stretches, as I sit in my truck
paralyzed, freezing in my long-johns and blanket.
He looks out over the city. I'm a speck.
He knows he's the first to come back...
He bends over and pulls a club from his grave,
grunts, straightens, pounds the club once
on the street, in front of my truck.
He lumbers past me, grumbling
something about midgets....
© 2009 Stephen Jarrell Williams
Stephen Jarrell Williams has done everything from
mowing lawns to being an executive at a software company. His poetry
and short stories have appeared in over a hundred publications. He
loves to write, listen to his music, and dance late into the night.
Find more by Stephen Jarrell Williams in the Author Index.
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