Sid Gold, five poems


I awoke just past dawn,

pillow-headed, the lamp still

burning from last night’s read,

my neck a rusty hinge.

Then I remembered my dream

of loss, peopled by a cast

of former co-workers I barely knew.

Today, I promised,

I will love no one & no one,

nothing, shall love me in return.


If, exhausted by the blunt ironies

of the highway, you stop late

some afternoon at an old cemetery

laid out in a churchyard alongside

an unmarked two-lane, you may be

the only visitor walking the rows.

The caretaker, hearing the metallic thud

of the car door slamming shut,

the hurt-kitten whine of the front gate,

might stroll over for a look-see.

He’s an old-timer, lanky, white-haired,

his face a bit flushed from two hours

of raking & sweeping. He will fiddle

with his pipe & give you the once-over

but he won’t interfere. He’s seen

his share of lone travelers drive in