I went to look for poetry
beneath the midnight moon
out where the potholes pocked the road,
and spotted a raccoon.
He’d torn a dumpster open wide
like caught and gutted prey,
and two green eyes peered back with all
the brightness of the day.
Down by the tracks that split the town,
a rusted, upturned boat
sheltered a thin and trembling man
who clutched a five-pound note.
He’d worn his boot-soles open wide,
his hair was dusty gray,
and two big eyes stared back at me
like caught and gutted prey.
And in him there was poetry:
a cadence in his sighs,
unwritten, unheard stanzas carried
underneath his eyes.
© 2019 Gareth Marks