Silence is always an argument by the opposition.
I had to speak up to stand a chance, to save what
was left of my past glory and grandeur.
This was no celebration. There would be no
fireworks following. No fife. No drums.
The long stairs leading to the church was
where Katie and her friends would smoke
and pretend to be too cool for school.
I went mute on the matter. It was all too strange.
Wave the flag and hope the odd denizens salute.
They are more concerned with their own problems.
“Beauty is no longer a thing,” she told me,
and her court robes made me believe it.
There were crowds in the upstairs gallery,
looking on, snickering at my confusion.
I wanted to read them my resume, show them
what an ordinary man might manage to accomplish.
“How do you plead?” the oversized security officer asked.
It was accidental, the same way one might look away
for a minute and miss the end of the world.
Like so many recent dreams, this one defied logic.
I wasn’t sure what I was being charged with,
only that I already owned the accompanying guilt.
I cleared my throat, cleared my mind,
and started vocalizing any Bible stories
I could remember, hoping they might
provide necessary solace, but all the
names kept coming out wrong, all wrong.
Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. He champions the underdog to the melodic rhythms of obscure power pop. His two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press), and a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press), are available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and directly from the publishers.