We rode bikes on the boardwalk, Dad and I,
On early mornings, while the crowd still slept.
We shared the time much like a secret kept –
That truce was possible. It was a guy
Thing, one might say, not mentioning that Mom
Was not in sight. Well, not in hearing was
More to the point. Gulls only broke the calm --
Gulls and the softly crashing tide, because
Mom wasn’t here, could fill our ears with round,
Warm tones. Even the wheels were mute – no card;
No squeak; just turning without sound.
To go long without talking was not hard.
There was no need for any other noise.
There could be peace out there, for just us boys.
-- © 2009 by Jack Veasey
This poem appeared in Issue 9 of Fledgling Rag. Thanks to Editor/Publisher Le Hinton.
All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any way without the author's written permission.