by Richard Dinges

Watching Sunset


Gathered in dark blurs
on gray wood decks,
they look out on a pond
that seeps slowly away,
its own mirage.  They
huddle together to wait
out wind’s chill and winter’s
long dark nights, and rumors
heard of variants that sweep
through crowds to thin
our herd.  They hold their
breath, hold back a spasm
deep in the chest, look
sidelong to see if anyone
noticed, then settle back
in an uncomfortable chair
and await the setting sun
and maybe one last red blaze.
 





Innocence 


A little girl walks 
a black mixed-breed pup, 
all legs and springs and curves,
along my path through long
grass and tall cattails,
up to my stand, where
I cradle my rifle in my arms, 
on guard for vermin and muskrats.
The puppy eyes my red cap
and wants to race beyond.  
The little girl walks to my side
and hugs me.  The puppy
shies around me until I remove
that red ball cap, and we make 
friends again, before 
they resume their walk
away from the armed
white man in red ball cap.







Fishing Lesson


They gather on my dock
at pond’s muddy edge.
Boards groan and sag
from age and weight. 
Parents and daughter
hover over granddaughter
who wields a small red
fishing pole.  She angles
it between sky and water,
uncertain of her future.
They gaze down on her
from their vast experience.
They forecast her success
with a fine catch that she 
seems reluctant to touch.
 





Waiting for the Storm


An entire day
stretches a lifetime
under gray skies
that drape gloom and drop
drizzle in long
languorous trails
down window panes
when forecasts warn
of doom and danger
just over the horizon
to arrive in just hours
and stretch over
an empty lifetime.







The Test


We live in rural seclusion. 
We connect through texts
and phone calls. 
We follow our granddaughter’s
emergence to smiles, first 
giggles and then tap dancing
in a stroller via videos.
My wife becomes lethargic, 
developed a fever, finally gave in
and was tested. The long cotton 
swab pushed through her
swollen sinus, cleared the clog, 
and she could think again, 
cured by the test for Covid,
still uncured of our isolation.

Richard Dinges, Jr. lives and works by a pond among trees and grassland, along with his wife, two dogs, three cats, and six chickens.
MockingHeart Review, The Journal, WINK, Wild Violets, and Exacting Clam most recently accepted his poems for their publications.