Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Sweet Old World By Jim Bourey



A rusty ceiling fan beats an irregular rhythm
and it might be in a run-down Florida motel
cooling a writer making lines leading
into a sad story of failure
and love lost. Truth

is, it’s in Elmira and the snow is piled up
and the fan is running because it always will
until the switch is fixed. Knotty pine walls,
industrial grade carpet. A faint odor
reminiscent of all the bodies

who have struggled here mingles
with the sharp aroma of cheap bourbon
in a plastic cup. In the morning the meeting
will seal a big deal and I’ll turn my car
north towards home.

Bills will be paid; wife and kids
will get new shoes.
And Lucinda will sing
on my CD player
about her “Sweet Old World” as miles
and years just slip away.




Jim Bourey is an old poet who divides his year between the Adirondack Mountains and Dover, Delaware. His chapbook “Silence, Interrupted” was published in 2015 by the Broadkill River Press. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Paddock Review, Gargoyle and the Broadkill Review and other journals and anthologies. He was first runner up in the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Competition in 2012 and 2016. He has served as an adjudicator for the Poetry Out Loud competition in Delaware. In his North Country months, he is active with the St. Lawrence Area Poets and has taken part in Art/Poetry projects in Saranac Lake.

1 comment:

  1. You guys and Lucinda. Her words know all of you by heart.

    ReplyDelete

"Bring It On Home To Me" by Matt Amott

She wanted to spend the day walking around the city but the rains came. Instead, we took shelter in the nearest dive, order...