Answered Prayer

photo by Denton Harryman of GreenvilleDailyPhoto.com

“Answered prayer,” she says, “you are an answer.”
Billiard balls dance behind plate glass.
Cue sticks aim, wave, conduct our conversation.
Like over-sized batons they signal us to begin.

Friendly strangers, we lay out the makings
for a tapestry—words, expressions.  We weave
answers and questions.  A weft thread
beneath the warp rises to the pattern.

With longing, each one eyes the other
standing there.  Each looks for a close weave,
for a familiar image to appear amidst the intricacies,
beneath the lighted Corner Pocket sign.

Our eager, wanton prayers fly quickly, brightly,
like a tight rack of balls at the break.
Like many lavish threads, they emerge from below,
pressing against each other to form a whole.

to see more of Denton Harryman’s photography visit http://GreenvilleDailyPhoto.com

Junkyard Dog, Eight AM

A dog, a brown boulder,
visible through the chain link,
listens for her only friend.
A whistle—a call to greet
the open gate—and she bolts,

unbound by the drab lot.
A flatbed backs and stops,
grinds to first, and barges off.
Red-dirt flags of dust unfurl
over mountains of tires.

A trailer is unlocked
to bring out a sack of food.
Her muzzle chomps,
down in her bowl,
beneath a live oak’s shelter.

A cigar ash grows
and the sun
expands a kudzu vine
to hide the bumpers, hoods,
and fenders that go nowhere.

A junkyard is a strange and somewhat mysterious place.  We think of it as a dead end, both for automobiles and the people who work there.  Most of us do not visit them.  Many of us don’t even know where to find one.  Often, they are physically hidden in out of the way places behind large fences or hills.

Junkyards serve us by hiding our trash (and material excess).  They also provide used parts and a lot of scrap metal that can be recycled and reused.  They are part of the landscape of industrial society: rows and rows of cars sprawled over acres of fields.

The people who work there could be considered hidden servants of our society.  They take responsibility for our castoffs and capitalize on the value that remains in those old cars.  Wise junkyard operators are concerned to protect their asset, thus, the junkyard dog.

In this poem, the dog works at night and is greeted by its master at opening time.  Intruders are rare, therefore the dog has a “drab lot.”  But, come morning, there is anticipation of contact with the master and the enjoyment of food and rest.

I tried to represent the hidden and lonely yard from the perspective of the dog as a metaphor for individuals who work hard and faithfully in jobs that are invisible to most of society.  The animal is approached by none but the master, who knows it well enough to do so.  The dog does not wish to be friends with any but the master.  It is doing what it has been bred and trained to do, i.e. be an enemy to all.  This is hard work for the dog and only the master’s appearance brings rest.  The oak tree and the kudzu are metaphors for rest.  Like a blanket of green, the kudzu protects the car parts while the dog is gone (during the day).  Rest is given from above (the sun causing kudzu to grow) and often in mundane ways (dust settling like a blanket on the tires).

We live in a castaway society where people are forgotten, or regarded as shameful, if they do not provide pleasure, entertainment, or a return on our investment.  In the poem, the master’s provision of food and companionship, the tree, the kudzu, and dust settling on the tires are metaphorical coverings for the shame of castaway people and things.

I also tried to say something about contentment with one’s calling or lot in life.  The dog is satisfied to do its work, receive its daily chow, and take shelter beneath the tree.  It is thankful and waits patiently for the one friend who truly cares.

The cigar ash is a metaphor for the slow steady burn of a man’s workaday life (within which are comforts and joy).  I ended with the cigar image because I am really talking about the human experience of work and life, not a dog’s.

Amid Old Friends

Amid old friends, a working hand
comes down hard.  Fear falls on the land,
as a fist becomes a hammer,
a glass tabletop to shatter.
A man, afraid, will take a stand

when, not according to his plan,
he receives a humble brand
and is loath to drop the matter
amid old friends.

Shards sing out how rage will expand
into violence, will demand,
with a loud rattle of anger
and a bang of bad behavior,
that we heed a fool’s reprimand
amid old friends.

Easy Friends and Hard Won Enemies: A Proverb

Making enemies requires effort.
Slack and rude won’t accomplish it.
These are anticipated and
Not nearly despicable.

You must listen…carefully.
Respond.  Look at whom you
Address.  Give them the benefit
Then give it again.

Play.  Wrestle.  Don’t mention
A good deed you did.  Dress
In honesty.  Delight in Peace.
Expand space.  Build a bridge.

Persist!  The betrayers will arrive.
They will despise, and you will
Be dismissed.  Clenched, their
Face will form a fist.  But

Making friends is a cinch!  Find
One who is equally chafed by
Your enemy.  Together, take aim,
…Steady…Fast you will remain.

Of course, that friend is like honey
That turns bitter in the belly.
A true friend will always be
Your potential hard won enemy.

The Best Thing About Old Friends

The best thing about old friends is:
You can visit them in a cool city like
Atlanta, near a really entertaining and
educational attraction—the Aquarium.
Your old friends have been successful and
own a beautiful home with a guest
bedroom suite that has its own bathroom.
There is another room for your children!
They treat you to lunch at the Varsity
then buy your tickets to enter the Aquarium.
Later, they sit and listen while you tell your
interests and opinions. These turn out to be
many of the same things they say are their
thoughts and intentions as you listen to them.
You eat grilled tender steaks together and
decide there are many best things about
your old friends. And while you’re chewing and
sitting and listening and being
listened to, you begin to recognize a surprising
sensation you never expect to be feeling
this side of heaven. And you know that your
old friends are the best thing about them.