March 1, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION


Richard Donnelly






that bench outside the Laundromat it

got some use from me today

each week on Saturday afternoon

the street dropping down to the sea

I wait there in torn jeans

the winter sun on my face the slow progress

of the day with nothing before me just

the simple weekly requirement

the bench the door cars slowed by

the day the lot like a ticking clock

those are pretty days with nothing to do

the night an empty room

the street all of it

waiting for me the wait an occupation

in itself a pleasure a vast and empty memory










one night it must have snowed

and my mountain

in the morning

glowed white after the all-night

storm which only meant rain

to us


my mountain has snow I thought

I watched it a long time

a desert mountain

it became magical

less mine and further away than

ever before










I spent time on your patio you

didn’t know that

because I didn’t tell you


I counted the bricks

I think I know all about your flowers


you might think while you’re at work

I would do something else you

are wrong

I love you and

it is good to have secrets












Richard Donnelly

Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota USA, the ice fishing capital of the world. And we’re okay with that. Mr. Donnelly’s first book, The Melancholy MBA, is published by Brick Road Poetry Press.


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.