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Weeds are not supposed to grow
but by degrees
some achieve a flower, although
no one sees.

From the April Issue

MARCUS BALES

Suddenly



Suddenly the kids, the car,
the house, the spouse, the local bar,
the work, have made you what you are.
What doesn't chill you makes you fonder.

Should you stay or should you go?
The thrill you're looking for, you know,
could be right here at home, although
what doesn't thrill you makes you wander.

If, avoiding common truth,
you dye your hair and act uncouth,
will you find your misplaced youth –
really, will you if you're blonder?

It doesn't matter if you're strong
or if you sing a pretty song,
something, and it won't be long,
will come to kill you, here or yonder.

You're human in the human fray,
and choose among the shades of grey.
No matter if you go or stay
what might fulfill you makes you ponder.

 

Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and his poems have not appeared in Poetry or the The New Yorker.

 

 

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