AIR MAIL LETTER
by Linda Thornton Peterson
Like a V in the sky
I see the wild ducks fly.
Fall has finally come
Now the ducks are on the run.
Then, I hear the wild ducks cry
As they paddle through the sky
Calling out to find a pond in which to lie.
They hear their echoes round the bend
And hope they soon can settle in.
The cattails wave; the sunset glows
But their leader never knows
If he will find what they will like
A lonely lily pond for the night.
Bio: Linda Thornton Peterson, a Louisiana native, retired from Northern Illinois University as a psychotherapist and teacher. Six of her short stories and a poem have appeared in The Greensilk Journal. Poetry publications include: The Hanging Moss Journal, the Western State Colorado University Journal and a Northern Illinois University Journal. She won an NIU faculty poetry award and is a founding member of two DeKalb writers’ groups. As a former art teacher and stringer photographer with the Associated Press, she continues to exhibit her art as well as write.
by Thomas Piekarski
This district is a perpetual paradox,
a crossfire of wind and dry heat;
so even though I’m chilled I sweat.
Maybe the cat ate the cage, not the bird.
A truck carrying a load of crushed cars
rumbles down Columbus playing Rap
to utter distraction. I make my way
to Cafe Trieste, where hang photos
of Pavarotti, Steve Allen, Bob Dylan.
From a girl’s earring hangs a spider,
dangling on a long thread. It begins
to sing a lot like Dean Martin,
but dances like Elvis. To escape
what seems like double jeopardy
I walk past the Rome Trattoria
then down to the Stinking Rose Cafe,
famous for drowning food in garlic:
I can only guess what colors
may burst forth in a plume of glory.
The fact that the economy has tanked
can’t be blamed on the wrinkled man
zonked on a bench in Washington Square,
having killed a bottle of dago red.
This place is well known for its poets
but you would hardly know it,
Via Ferlinghetti but a nondescript alley
that backs La Spiaggia Delicatessen.
As the half blind man with cane in hand
holds up traffic, walking against red,
I consider if I should take in the Tut
exhibit at the De Young, as I have
nothing better to do than view gold.
Moreover, it wouldn’t involve work,
and like the Miles Davis music
being piped onto the street,
it would create equilibrium
and verticle leap.
Bio:Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of theCalifornia State Poetry Quarterly. His theater and restaurant reviews have been published in various newspapers, with poetry and interviews appearing in numerous national journals, among them Portland Review, Main Street Rag,Kestrel, Scarlet Literary Magazine, Cream City Review, Nimrod, Penny Ante Feud,New Plains Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Muse-an International Journal of Poetry, and Clockhouse Review. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems. He lives in Marina, California.