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Dennis Held

He polkas two step flops out of the
Serene dead ends of Vinegar Flats
Where time and time’s children love the
Unhurried pace. The sidestreet cats
Meander round the poet’s broken
Down heart, beat up car, aching
Iambic lines laid out like seeds
In rows where syllables and weeds
Comingle with pugnacious music
In step with river rush and trains
That sing to Dennis soft refrains
And bathe the tragic in the comic
Insistence on the rocky ground
Divine in dialects of sound.

Comments

  1. lickona says:

    I very much like “syllables and weeds.”

  2. Jonathan Webb says:

    Good one.

  3. Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says:

    The curse of the transitive surname. Whatever else may be said of the man, ‘Dennis Held’ is a sentence in search of a direct object.

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