the form of a tempest

‘JOVIAN TEMPEST’ BY NASA VIA WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

By Greg Alston

and sometimes it doesn’t rhyme but just seeps out like effluent washing over the cobbled streets of a town you’ve never been to and stumbling, burdened with the mannerisms of my father’s father’s and these feet that must walk and listening now as the roar of humanity approaches with it’s atavistic howl coming closer i draw these curtains inward to step back, barefootedly toward the shelter of a memory that is not mine but shared collectively and remembered by the whispering of the trees and falling asleep on an afternoon so long ago

Greg Alston is a gardener, cook, father and some other things, too.

Boulder Weekly accepts poetry and flash fiction submissions at 450 words/35 lines or fewer and accompanied by one-sentence bio of the author. Send to poetry@boulderweekly.com