The Pulp
Our young fingers used to dig
through the rough outer shell
and find the sweet inner flesh
and that’s how we must live now
even in these last days of breath.
Say Yes
She enjoyed the chase
but when he dropped the ring
in her lap, she had to look out
the window a while and think,
holding him up on wires.
Hidden Agenda
It lingers, a serpent, right below
the surface of their words, ready
always to strike out with venom.
The Day He Stopped
Damn it, I’m going to stop, he said
and she had heard it before. Watched
him at the sink. Knew his well-rehearsed
lines. She knew when she left it would
be the same old blinking story.
Rassle
We used to call it rassling
and pinned each other to the floor
never knowing we let each other
win every time.
J. “Ash” Gamble is what might be called a late in life poet. His work has appeared in Dead Snakes and The Poet Community. He is from Ft. Myers, Florida.
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