Black white red
Or yellow old
Young or in
Between gay straight
Or somewhere in
The middle these
Are just colors
Or numbers or
Desires but what
Bonds one to
The other is
Always what can’t
Be seen or
Counted or enjoyed
It’s simply purely
Love and respect
It’s these invisible
Things that matters
Most and binds
Have you ever
Seen those domino
Tricks where you
Knock one down
And there’s a
Cavalcade of toppling
Blocks imagine if
One in the
Middle was missing
Or anywhere for
That matter then
What would become
Of the glee
The same thing
Would happen if
You got your
Wish to be
Someone anyone else
If you’re not
Who you are
Then everyone else
That you’ve ever
Touched simply couldn’t
Be whoever they
Have ever been
Maybe your life
Is hard now
But imagine just
How hard all
Those else’s lives
Would be without
You in them
And so on
And so on
Mortality visited me
Bringing with him
A box which
Contained my tribulations
Inside I found
My years of
Carelessness and frivolity
Snapshots of drunken
Wanton and dangerous
Behaviors gluttony and
Prideful arrogance men
Discarded as phone
Numbers and unkept
Promises to meet
I asked him
What are these
He quietly replied
These are your
Organs if they
Could talk saying
That they’re tired
Of supporting your
Evil ways Oh
So now Now
He said change
To live or
Die a fools
Death and then
He was gone
Americans believe that
What you do
Is more important
Than who you
Are when I’m
Asked what I
Do I simply
Say that I’m
A poet playwright
But what do
You do I
Reply this way
I love and
Then I fail
At loving and
Then I ache
Then I purge
Spewing this heartbreak
Into poems and
Through the mouths
Of characters in
The hopes that
I can either
Prevent or remind
That loving and
Heartbreak are universal
And not personal
Yes he says
But what do
You really do
Some dogs are
Simply not going
To roll over
No matter how
Often that you
Wave your hand
Standing in the
Doorway looking out
Wondering where your
Footprints went now
That they’re covered
By a fresh
Blanket of snow
All remains quiet
Except for the
Sound of winds
Creating drifts making
Me think that
You’re coming back
But all that
I get is
Cold that kind
Of cold that
Buried my heart
Right behind your
Now forgotten footprints
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 