Flame Point Poet

by Mary E. Lowd

He’s sitting alone
On a park bench reading
Poetry on his phone
Looking like any teenage
Hooligan, feline ruffian
Wasting time
But the words of the poets
Rhyme with ideas in his mind
And a moment of quiet
With words long since frozen
—a flash picture taken
Of another mind
In another time—
Might lead to an insight
Or maybe, the soft touch
Of connection

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