3/4/11

Rusted Rose
By John Guy Cole


The sun paints the sky the color of rusted rose.

“Storm's coming.”

“We still have a moment.”

The drops hit us as the sky opens up. The twilight of our lives comes pouring down

Around us.

Creak

Creak

Creak

Our rocking chairs on the open porch accompany the percussion

Of raindrops on tin.

Tap

Tap

Tap

Our gnarled hands hold their partner under the afghan you knitted

All those years ago.

Wisp

Wisp

Wisp

Of my thumb against your index finger is the slight shuffle of a cabassa shaker

Added to the snare of rain

And tweaking of bow strings.

Ba-bum

Ba-bum

Ba-bum

Our hearts beat a timpani of rhythm to add to the concussion.

Creak

Tap

Wisp

Ba-bum

Over

And over

And over

And over

And over

And over

Again. This is our lives. Our song. Our opus.

Just you and me and the rain and our life.


- - -
John Guy Cole enjoys the soothing dulcet tones of Elliot Smith, Bob Marley, and Perry Como. And whiskey. Can't forget the whiskey.