On a Picnic Table at the Blue Creek Windmill Farm

They dip their paddles
Into the white-watered blue,
The windmills,
Keeping perfect time.

I have never missed a note
Playing
The air guitar.

There is a stack of 45s
Jammed on the spindle
Inside my head.

Jack and Diane
Have pledged eternal love
Inside a carved heart
On the table, punctuated
With bird shit.

Like a skein of geese
Harleys grumble down the Lincoln Highway.

The winged shadow passes, returns.

Forever has gone so fast.

 

 

About the Poet:
Robert E. Petras is a resident of Toronto, Ohio and a graduate of West Liberty University. His poems and fiction have appeared in more than 200 publications across the globe.

 

 

Poetry Breakfast accepts submissions of poetry and poetry related creative non-fiction year-round.  See our Submission Guidelines page for details on submitting your work.

Start your morning with a nourishing poem.  Follow us on  Twitter, Facebook, and  Tumblr,  and enjoy a new poem every morning straight to your feed.