Asphalt slag: Say a’a lava. A yard’s
dank swamp: Say pampas, a sawgrass marsh.
A man at stalk: Glad a man’s
at watch. A match’s spark: What warms
all dark. Tall grass. A vacant shack.
A gnat-clad lamp’s ash star: Aghast, say
at Mass, an all-day’s pray at an altar, far
away. An alarm call, a fatal
flaw: A gaff. A lark. A gag.
A gag—a bandana’s wad: Say what balms
a gasp. A car’s crank, gas, a way
away—a latch that stays.
A frat-chant, tap that ass: A psalm’s
mantra, a ballad’s
track. A lay? A bang? Say that flat—
a gang’s attack: A tramp
that asks. Law’s task, a warrant’s
ask: A grasp
at straws—stall a man’s start?
A slap: A pat. Claw marks: A back
scratch—talk, charm; a thrash,
that’s all. An arm’s
want’s wand, harm’s arc
at bay—say what was,
wasn’t. Scars, flashbacks, stats
that swarm, sad math: Say blank
and blank=blanks. Say abstract art
what chalk-drawn lays: Say
what’ll wash away.
Read poetry by Sandra Meek appearing in Terrain.org: two poems and one poem.
Header photo by Kayo, courtesy Shutterstock. Photo of Sandra Meek by Paul O’Mara.