1/3/12

THE OLD OAK
By John Grey


I can't believe

initials and an arrow-pierced heart

still adorn that tree.

No indication from the bark

that such deep scratches

are merely scars of puppy love.

But who in the world's name

began with "E" and "J"?



No doubt I was the one

who took a pocket knife

to reluctant wood,

gouged out blueprints

to adolescent passion.

Too bad the evidence survives

years beyond feelings.



These days I'm married

and the ancient oak is me.

A weapon's been unnecessary.

Invisible, the names stay put.

Invisible, no question

what they stand for.


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Australian born poet, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Poem, Caveat Lector, Prism International and the horror anthology, “What Fear Becomes” with work upcoming in Big Muddy, Prism International and Writer’s Journal.