“The Blue Chair Laments” by Mary Beth Hines

Jack Mullen left
alone against
the posted rules
he could not read
despite their bold
dark lettering and glasses
pressed onto his nose
he pushed himself
from contoured space
from cushions concave
with his weight
he set out on
his own two feet
in full belief
across the water
ridged mountains rose
tipped streaming sky
lost king’s thin crown
and sweeping gyre
of grey osprey
the knife-edged flash
the salt-stung prey
still Jack moved out
at steady pace
into the sun’s
sea-blinding light
not a Peter
more a Paul
he turned and beckoned
before he fell




Mary Beth Hines writes poetry, short fiction and non-fiction from her home in Massachusetts. Her recent work appears, or will soon appear, in journals including Amethyst Review, Blue Unicorn, Crab Orchard Review, I-70 Review, Orchards Poetry Journal, and The Road Not Taken among others. She is looking for a home for her first poetry collection. Find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/marybeth.mullenhines/.

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