Saturday, January 30, 1988 Something heavy had gone down on Route 82 between its intersection with Route 30 and that intersection with the globe of the Earth on a pedestal, which reminded me of the cat at the last poetry reading who had a deflated beach ball and he kept puffing into it. It looked …
Author Archives: Walt Gebhart
The Last One Chosen
I too was always the last one chosen in Pick-up baseball games and what bugs Me now in retrospect is not that I was a Poor athlete but rather that some Set of social values had me stand there Until I was the last one chosen for some Inconsequential ball game when I could have …
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by Walt Gebhart The old Black Ford Weighs a ton-and-a-half. G78-by15s on the front. L78-by-15s on the rear. 351 cubic inch Windsor V-8. Carries a payload of About a ton. When she’s stuck behind A row of Joe-go-slow’s on a Country road just hive her A clear oncoming lane. She’ll hit passing gear And kick …
The Harlebur Year
Mom named you that. It Was an adaptation from the name I Gave you: “Harley Davidson.” (You purr like a motorcycle). So now it’s been a year. I’ve aged one, you aged seven. Sometimes I feel like we could call it “Even.” Or maybe I’ve got you beat—it’s Felt like twenty since Mom left. You …
Get On With It
(a love poem) Thirty-eitht years is not Really a long time to live but It’s taught me something about Love. Each of us has a Purpose apart from it. We are each complete Human beings of and by Ourselves. We each have a destiny To fulfill; a life to Lead, and whether we Are loved …