A Poem by d w Stojek
O’ it’s a lonely maypole in three footfall snow, and where may I go without reason, without clothes? By the seat of my bicycle, full of frost and icicles let my Fancy sway, unfettered in the winter’s shortened day… “Yes, but well, what are you doing here?” Had you noticed my axe you would not have asked. Well, you wouldn’t now, would you dear? Alas, I whittle with what is Little-- I am tired traffic. A faltering star. Spring, too distant, too far, and where would I go, O’ if not to the lonely maypole?
d w Stojek is a poet, photographer, and general nuisance to those within earshot. He is eagerly awaiting the day when ‘Build-a-Bear’ re-opens as a series of genetic labs that will enliven the blighted strip malls of Suburbia.