Poetry

Steven Wang photo

By

Ferris E Jones

Arms

I don’t recall

if arms,

were sold at all.

The Colonel is

the one,

the one

who should

take the fall.

I’m Sorry

I walked

to the mail box,

old, small,

no threat to anyone.

A cable van, parked,

a much younger man

behind the wheel.

As I passed I heard

the click of the

doors locking

from the inside.

I glanced back to see

a young bearded man,

his dark skin brought

no fear in me.

But with that click,

I knew he felt

fear of me.

And for that,

I’m sorry,

for what others

have done.

Ferris E Jones

Ferris E. Jones writes poetry and screenplays from his residence outside Seattle, Washington. His work has been published in Se La Vie Writers Journal, Write on Magazine and other literary periodicals. He is the recipient of two Grants from the Nevada Arts Council and published several collections of poetry, including To Burning Man, Oh the Path that Followed and As the Toad Sleeps. You can learn more about Ferris E. Jones by visiting www.inquisitionpoetry.com.