Odd Walking Thoughts

The toilet needs to be cleaned. Try one more time. Behind the seat. The odor sets in. The boy wipes his nose with dirty hands. He wonders when he’ll be able to go outside. Flogged thinking takes place of truth. The boy scrubs and views his life without reason. Thank you, he thinks, the outside isn’t much anyway.

-M. Taggart

A Poem – It’s Not Nothing

I’m upstairs. Writing. Drinking beer.
Outside the leaves are turning over,
I read we may see a storm tonight.
I hope we do.

You’re downstairs. With our son.
I can say now that I know it’s not nothing.
I’d like for my college English teacher to read that line.
I wouldn’t care for his opinion now, just as I didn’t then.

But! If you want to talk about my fifth grade teacher,
now that was a teacher and a great man.
When answering him you better reply correctly. Exacting.
Or, the eyebrow up, head down and the pointing of the finger
toward the hallway.

Anyway, I know now it isn’t nothing.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever know about it because I didn’t
understand if it truly was. Or, if it was another collected
thought process to hitch and wind all persons into the smallest of places.

When you come home, I watch him run to you. I am not a soft man. I feel soft when I see this. I release myself from anything but watching him and you. His little feet running,
arms swinging, with a toy shaking violently. I say, ‘Mamma’s home.’
The door doesn’t need to make a sound, he’s off to greet you.

I guess I can remember when I coached baseball for my brother. I guess I can admit to myself that these things took place, the things being feelings, took place and helped me to step closer to my understanding of this.

The wind is picking up outside. I don’t think it’ll storm. I hope it does. This beer is good and I’ll need another soon.

when i was young
things weren’t
i left that word alone

and all the word left me alone
when i needed it the most
and the trees can push back
against the wind

and a boy can hope

My beer is gone. It’s time I go downstairs and see why I’m fighting tears.
It is true. It isn’t nothing.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

A Poem –

Pulling his baseball hat
over his eyes
he knew

it was about to begin,
he didn’t want to watch

Soon, he’d make
his way to the door-
walk down the steps
into the nighttime.
They wouldn’t see
him again

He’d sat-
Bent his ear-

Nothing changed
Fake smiles
Fake nails
Fake thoughts

They didn’t ask him,
they didn’t know him
they knew him plenty

So they went on
with their laughing
and their falseness

until everyone
around them
was gone

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017

A Poem

Walk with me
We’ll find a stone like all stones
I’ll notice nothing about it
You’ll tell me its secrets

How the stone lives,
loves,
smells,
and tastes other stones for clarity.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2017