Category Archives: Poem

April 16, 2015

The Security Guard

	The Security Guard
541	Security guard stood afoot,
	but night was getting late.
	His lead eyes now were drooping low.
	He has to stay awake.
545	He shook his leg and walked around.
	His coffee poured and flowed.
	The bank depended on this man
	to guard its liquid dough.
	Of course if he just took a seat,
550	relaxed his weary bones…
	The benefits outweigh the risks,
	and no one’d have to know.
	So sitting down, his eyes fell shut.
	“What if I fall asleep?”
555	he pondered in his dopey state
	as sleep began to creep.
	“What if a robber comes this night,
	armed with a pistol gun?
	Then would I be awake to put
560	that robber on the run?
	Asleep, I won’t be vigilant.
	The thief would prance right in.
	He’d march up to our giant safe,
	then empty it and grin.
565	There’d be a noise, the lock would crack,
	within the riches shine.
	He’d fill his bag, then he’d be off
	to live a life refined.”
	The guard recoiled and then he thought:
570	“What if my eyes did close
	and into slumber I descend,
	a deep and happy doze?
	What if a crazy man then comes
	and threatens with a bomb?
575	He holds me hostage for the cash –
	his sanity long gone.
	He yells aloud, sets off alarms.
	Soon news crews do arrive,
	and pictures of me ‘round the world
580	show uniformed man cry.
	The bomber man has no demands,
	for all he wants is fame.
	He shouts out Boom! and spins his gun,
	prolongs his twisted game.
585	Policemen offer deals to him,
	but bomber won’t have that.
	He knows his life is forfeit now
	so counts down his attack.
	Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…
590	My end is nearer now.
	Light flashes! Forceful heat explodes!”
	Guard wakes, and wipes his brow.
	“Okay,” he says, “I should not sleep.
	I’ve got to do my task
595	or awful things made in my dreams
	might truly come to pass.”
	But then a worse, more fearful thought
	began to overtake.
	Reflecting on his awful dreams:
600	“What if I were awake?”

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December 23, 2014

The Milk Man

By Alex Longstreth

	The Milk Man
481	The milk man is a humble gent.
	He barely speaks a sound.
	He wakes up early every morn
	to do his milky rounds.
485	He’s not a business man like some.
	He knows no politics.
	He picks up empty bottle crates;
	each one can carry six.
	One dawn the man was running late,
490	the sun was peaking out.
	He had two homes left on his list
	to finish his long route.
	When he approached the final house
	he picked up empty jars,
495	replacing them with sweet white milk
	and turning toward his cart.
	But as he was about to leave
	he heard a sudden click.
	The door flew wide, a girl inside
500	coughed lightly on her fist.
	When she was sure she had his ear
	she spoke this compliment:
	“Thank you for your kind services,
	your milk’s always so fresh!”
505	The milk man heard her gratitude
	but shied away at thanks.
	“Oh Miss, I just deliver milk
	in its completed state.
	Some other men do all the work.
510	They milk and pasteurize,
	then cleaners clean and bottlers cap
	and bosses supervise.”
	The girl responded with nice words:
	“You’re more than that, you know.
515	Come back tomorrow at this time,
	I promise you a show…”
	The milk man blankly stared at her,
	then turned around and left.
	He couldn’t help but wonder at
520	whatever she had meant.
	The next day he began his route.
	He walked through quiet dusk.
	Despite the young girl’s prophecy,
	the man would not grow fussed.
525	And then the last house did appear.
	All seemed as well it should.
	He picked up crates and dropped off milk,
	his job complete and good.
	But once again the portal creaked!
530	Girl ushered milk man in.
	The room contained the neighborhood –
	his clients, and all grinned.
	Miss Jacobs showed her prize bleu cheese.
	The baker shared his cakes.
535	And yogurts, milk shakes, crème brûlée
	were all placed on display.
	“You’re milk man, cheese man, cake man too,”
	the girl spoke gladly thus,
	“What you deliver every day
540	contributes to so much.”

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December 10, 2014

The Prisoner

By Alex Longstreth

	The Prisoner
421	A prisoner arrived one day
	at Coffee County jail.
	The verdict was for ten to life
	without parole or bail.
425	The first few months were difficult.
	His cell mates often raged.
	The confines of his tiny space
	made him regret his cage.
	“There’s no escape,” that’s what they say,
430	“These walls will suffocate.
	Constricted, breathless you will be.
	Your life is confiscate.”
	Well, time went by, and life grew grim,
	then prisoner decides
435	he won’t be trapped by these gray walls
	until the day he dies.
	He steals a spoon from the canteen.
	At night he slowly digs.
	He scratches holes just barely deep.
440	Each never gets too big.
	He started on the far left wall,
	which juxtaposed outside,
	then switched his target to the back,
	which softer rock comprised.
445	Some years go by; the walls expand
	a little at a time.
	The guards don’t notice anything;
	they only see hard lime.
	Expanding cells have ill effects,
450	the prisoner soon knew.
	The noise was greater from the back.
	The left was cold as blue.
	But he kept digging up those walls.
	He never missed an inch.
455	The cell grew wider every day,
	but thirst was never quenched.
	“I want more room so I can stretch!
	I want to run ten miles!
	This cell cannot contain my needs,
460	nor to what I aspire.”
	And then one day he dug too deep,
	for light escaped a crack.
	He braced himself, and then he gave
	that thin rock wall a whack.
465	A hole stood wide, no going back,
	the guards would see his deed.
	He stepped outside the wall divide
	and breathed in flowering trees.
	His world was now so limitless.
470	His walls were broken down.
	No one could tell him what to do.
	Give prisoner a crown!
	But then a bang and sudden pain…
	A bullet pierced his back.
475	The world was spinning quickly now.
	His life was fleeing fast.
	The prisoner had pushed his bounds,
	he’d bettered his poor fare.
	But walls protect; he’d never learned
480	it’s dangerous out there.