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ADELAIDE Independent Bimonthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Bimensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 



IF THE TRUTH BE SAID   
Patrick Erickson

 

 

 

IF THE TRUTH BE SAID   
                                                                                          
and static arises                                                                                     
to cause grievances
among the several parties
of a multi-party line

or if a single beam
of fiber optic cable
carries multiple parties

and the resulting static
causes grievances
and sparks fly
and the fire spreads

and if fire trucks are called for
and dispatched
and the firemen stand at the ready
fire extinguishers in hand

don't be surprised
if you're the more put out
the more you're put upon

when the truth is said
and the static grows
and the fire spreads.





 

WHAT DO YOU EXPECT OF BUTCHERY?

The savvy butcher
does his butchering
at night

and washes up after

so the carnivores
won't smell blood on his hands
his clothes
his butcher's apron

or see it stain
his butcher block

and trickle down into the sawdust
on the floor

or pool on the countertop
and coagulate

and ask, "Where's the beef?"

and have a beef with him
if they can't have their beefsteak
rare

their roast beef bloody

their hamburger raw

tooth and claw.

 

 

 

I STAND AT THE DOOR AND KNOCK

dead set against those
dead as doornails

as those dead as doornails are not dead set
being the doorjamb

the doormen
silent as sentinels
who stand and watch

and spring into action
only when the door is ajar
and there's a draft

to whom this is
open and shut

another doorknob
another deadbolt lock
another knocker
another hinge

another doorstop
standing on the threshold
knocking.

 

 

 

 

THE FRAGRANT LAIR

fragrant as lips laid on mine

your lips pale as the moon
and with its sheen
dank as my breath
on your lips
reddening

we roll over
ruddy from love
and fragrant
with its sheen

reddening
reddening with the sun.

 

 

 

WESTWARD HO!

Iron wood
and the iron men
who clear it
for trestles
and for firewood
                  
who lay the track
and man the cattle cars
and the cattle catchers

who catch fire
catching the flak
of a thousand fiery arrows
through and through

To the iron horses, then
and the iron rails

To the iron men who ride them
and the iron wood

and the iron-willed financiers
who finesse them.

                 + + +

There is a track
we one-track minds are on

a monorail
through the trackless waste
mined for all its worth

It is an ill wind that blows

that picks up the slack
picking up steam
picking us off

picking us up
and laying us down

so many miles of track bed
without recourse
to a third rail.

 

 

About the Author:

author

Patrick Theron Erickson, a resident of Garland, Texas, a Tree City, just south of Duck Creek, is a retired parish pastor put out to pasture himself. His work has appeared in Grey Sparrow Journal, Cobalt Review, and Burningword Literary Journal, among other publications, and more recently in The Main Street Rag, Wilderness House Literary Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Right Hand Pointing, and Danse Macabre.

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
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