L.B. Sedlacek

  

L.B. Sedlacek's poems have appeared in such publications as “Poetry Monthly,” “I-70 Review,” “Gloom Cupboard,” “Bent Pin Quarterly,” “Poet’s Canvas,” “Down in the Cellar,”  “Red River Review,” “Edgar Literary Magazine,” “Heritage Writer,” “Passport Journal,” “Word Riot,” “Illumen,” “InSpirit,” and “Open Cut.”  L.B.’s latest chapbook is “Red Headed Eskimos.” www.lbsedlacek.com

The following works are copyright © 2008. All rights reserved. No distribution or reprinting in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  

How To Catch A Pinwheel
   
The pinwheel whirls away even though
one of its petals is missing, making its
dance in the wind a little uneven, a little
off balance like a man wearing thick
heeled cowboy boots on a summer day
just in case he meets a horse he needs to tame.

  

Adopted By A Highway
   
Black coils of wire
wrapped round my toes
motherless feet walking barefoot
under light blue sky
twisting blades of grass
with heavy heels
cracked, dry, raw
leaving a bloody trail
for the snakes to follow
among balding Blue Mountains
(of North Carolina)
amid waterfalls of tears
dried up now and completely vanished
like beef jerky wrappers
decaying on the Appalachian Trail
left in the rush
to meld black tread and asphalt
to spit out jolts electric
cuffing my hands, my toes
to a machine
leading me to wonder
if I was adopted by a highway
would I have good parents.

  

Whispered Silence
   
He moved his lips this morning.
There was no sound, but I’d
turned it down, but when I
turned it up all I could hear
was the hum of the signal.
It was faded and blocked by the trees
and those eyesore cell phone
towers that never send a signal
when you need it.  I whacked the
TV but that didn’t help.  My
eyes seized on a caption that
explained why there was no
sound.  I took my cell phone
and whacked it on the counter.
I dropped it in the sink to see
if it would float.  I dropped
one in a toilet two years
ago and it sank like my
hand did when I spotted a
fish and tried to grab it.
His lips keep moving and I
watch them transfixed.  I look
up “transmogrification” in
the dictionary and think there
are more words than I could
ever imagine that start with
“ex.”  I stare at his mouth,
his beard, his curly black
and white hair and realize
that I heard every word.