07 February, 2013

{poetically plagiarized} 17: Guernsey

I love the quirky sense of humor in this piece. At least I think that's what it is. Maybe it isn't, but that's why I like it.

Back Road
           Winter mornings
           driving past
           I’d see these kids
           huddled like grouse
           in the plowed ruts
           in front of their shack
           waiting for the bus,
           three small children
           bunched against the drifts
           rising behind them.

           This morning
           I slowed to wave
           and the smallest,
           a stick of a kid
           draped in a coat,
           grinned and raised
           his red, raw hand,
           the snowball
           packed with rock
           aimed at my face.

by Bruce Guernsey, 2012