The Wish

The Wish

When the day is cold

When the moon shines

Into the bedroom

Or was it the neighbor's

Porch light left on

Disturbing my thoughts

Into some crazy story

An imagination of complex

Nothing so much

The blankets are warm

Just placed a little less perfect

Around the room these things

All touched by ownership

Of false hands that seem to beg

It's the old wish returning 

As if some giant screw

Is turned with elemental  tools

Just wanting just needing

An ache a silent scream

Fingers rubbing the scalp

Scratching at the eyes

Unable to sleep with legs

That can't find their place

Yes the wish rides this old horse

Here are its reins

Just as a jump from the saddle

Announces by jostling it loose

Can someone please call this home

Barry G. Wick

Snow Day

Snow Day

Opening the curtain

Behind my padded wooden chair,

Fresh snow has fallen.

A neighbor shovels at his car,

Giving me an internal wish

That this snow could be cleared

From my porch.

This, after I hurt my knee

Reaching for the hooks

Where the strap holds

The white and the brown curtains.

Across the cold lawn

A black cat limps in the street.

Does he wear orange make-up?

My luck is holding

While an unlucky nation screams.

My birthday cake bakes

For tomorrow's tiny celebration.

I'll smear chocolate frosting

On my old, white beard

From plates on a red table cloth.

A blue throw sits at the arm

On the red sofa.

Fireworks will be missing,

Wishing I could hear

A flake's conviction blizzard

On a windy day 

Seeing the drifts of liberation.

Barry G. Wick