Walking wounded

photography by Joel Clements







Here’s to the walking wounded --

The ones who continue to stand upright,
mortal wounds hidden from public sight,
bleeding relentless, internal blight,

… Here’s to the walking wounded.

Hearts ripped beating from red blossomed chests,
fermented promises long time suppressed,
still hoping while hope dies a prolong-ed death,

…Here’s to the walking wounded.

Half awake players of first dance wedding nights,
catatonic creatures with complacent lives,
silent screams in pissing down rain endless nights,

… Here’s to the walking wounded.

Red letter leaders turned concrete grey,
futures tainted by moral and economic decay,
as pink slips beget need for food stamps today,

… Here’s to the walking wounded.

The smelly man hunched on the bus shelter floor,
the starving children of front page tabloids galore,
the haunted eyed stranger I’ve learned to ignore,

… Here’s to the walking wounded.

Lesley-Anne Evans
October 2009

Legacy

photography by Robert Evans You would think
the smell of death would
have the power to break down
unforgiveness and stubborn pride.

What I mean is
there might be a coming to terms
with stuff,
like slights and rifts and differing opinions
and even some bigger things,
when coming to terms with
endings.

Yet, the broken breaches
caused by words poorly spoken
are a series of little deaths
adding up to
mortal wounds -
irreconcilable differences.

And, being human,
we clutch tightly to what is ours -
fighting for
the last word,
the last breath,
and leave behind
a legacy of

… regret.

Lesley-Anne Evans
09/26/08