Original Felony

Every morning
the dogs inside my neighbors fence
accuse me of trespassing.
On the surface I laugh but know
that animals can't be wrong.

The police are stalking me
like spiders near my house.
They had scraped
tiny paint samples
from my car.

Fettered as they probe,
inside my outrage I nod.
Crime is like a dark looming
choice. I fear, I crave
the fire and ice, the real place,
with the strong men
who can take my breath.

Short Walks

I don't know where
I pretend to be going,
following the lines
of deep mowed grass
in the re-claimed meadow,

following the edges of the
remnants of woods behind
town houses and calling them
copses, making photographs
that render them whole and rich,

fools' photographs.
I don't go far from home. My visions
make my walk around the
skirts of the neighborhood longer.
I imagine hard trails
and far away.

Don Schaeffer was born in the Bronx, N.Y. in 1940. He holds a Ph.D. in Social Psychology from City University of New York (1975). He established Enthalpy Press and has published 5 chap books including "Time Meat" and "The Word Cow and the Pig O' Love." ISBN series: 0-9687017 Recent poetry has been published in The Writers Publishing, Burning Effigy Press, Understanding Magazine and Quills.

Email: Don Schaeffer

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