|
Helen Vitoria
Freddy
None of us knew what was wrong.
All of us knew nothing was right.
He would sing Elton John songs
under the elevated freight rail bridge.
He liked the echo, we knew that, his voice in three, four, five
Rocket Man,
Rocket Man, Rocket Man
On occasion, he would sit in a wheelchair under the same bridge,
sing louder,some nights,
just screaming
Once a month, he would clean fresh corn, feed it to the
black dog, that paced the chain link fence,
corn silk
clung to his hair, his lips.
He exchanged corn, the dog accepted his touch.
Tonight, Freddy sits in the wheelchair
gun in hand, fully loaded, fully cocked,
exchanges bullets left to right,
aiming for all the stars in this night's sky,
all the while we watched, till someone asked
I am no longer afraid of the dark
I am no longer afraid of the dark
Helen Vitoria was born and raised in Greece, she resides and
writes in Effort, PA. She studied Creative Writing for a short time
at NYU. Her work appears and is forthcoming in The Dirty Napkin, The Cartier Street Review,
PANK, Tiger's Eye Journal and others. She is currently
working on her first full length collection entitled Corn Exchange.
|