By Richard LeDue

Sold-out Dreams

Past tense,
meaning they're already gone,
just barren shelves,
pretending to feed desires
we believe more in
than any god,
translated into every language,
but we need to understand
the translator has to eat too.
And when there's nothing left
inside the cardboard boxes,
we'll still reach in,
asking where it went,
angry at a world
that perfected “buy one, get one free,”
and made us think we need boot straps,
even when our feet are bare.
Our upset, shrivelled faces
don't last long enough though.
Soon, the new fliers arrive,
promising us paper thin salvation.

Midnight Poems

Almost no one understands
his need for midnight poems:
listening to dead stars
whisper their last words,
of how entire planets were gone
before their light became a lie,
and we can do nothing,
but follow them.

Boring Death to Death

I pretend to make friends
with the worms,
talk to them politely
in my head,
avoid sensitive topics like fish hooks,
never mention early morning robins-
the conversation boring,
appropriate, like those
who believe they deserve
a prepaid funeral
(argument over what shade of grey
on the casket with their colourblind spouse),
imagine immortality inside memories,
while forgetting death
isn't always about dying.

One thought on “Sold-out Dreams and Other Poems

  1. I found Richard LeDue’s poem “Boring Death to Death” to be reflective of the different thoughts we all sometimes think of during our days on earth. While I found most of the lines to be sort of generalizations of a free-thinking individual, I was struck by the sudden focus on the subject of a prepaid funeral–particularly when it came to the specific shade of a deceased person’s casket. Frank Kowal 


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