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1968
There was a library
in Thompson's dead garage
after they filled
the oil change pits
and threw away the hydraulics
we cleaned up
skeletons of transmissions
skewered them with wire
to supplement
the shoplight intimacy
and wheeled mechanic sleds
became sturdy tables
capable of supporting
Britannica and Kierkegaard
and still
you had to watch your step
I slipped once
and my Yeats got stained
Today
Today, some good young man
will be blown to bits
far from his wife and child
and someone will bow and pray
to a thankless god
for the strength to kill
what he believes to be
the infidel
It's okay
it's always been that way
and it always will
Timothy Dyson: took a thirty-three year break from writing poetry, to pursue a living in Human Resources.
Now he is able to do what he thoroughly enjoyed all those years ago.
Only one poem has been accepted so far at Spokenwar but he ia fine with it.
There's more perspective, more realization now than when he was young, eager and trying to get his MFA.
Email: Timothy Dyson
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