The Farmer's Wife

When the 
pitchfork tines
shot 'tween his ribs, 
he knew 
she wasn't kidding.
And all who knew 
the family said
the farmer's end 
was fitting.

R.L. Johnson, 2020

Navel Gazing

Are little kids self-conscious these days? The ones I see don't seem to be, but wow, I sure was. When I was around six years old, a little girl asked me if I had an innie or an outie. The subject was belly buttons, and I was mortified.

"An innie?" I'd seen a few innies in my day, and as they flashed through my panicked mind, they all seemed to belong to chubby kids. "Oh God! If I have an innie, she'll think I'm fat! Okay Randy, breath. Maybe you have an outie. Yeah maybe it's a... Noooo!!" my brain screamed as I suddenly remembered Scotty - big-time outie. Surely I would have noticed if I had an outie like that. No, it wasn't possible. But now with Scotty's outie on my mind, even a little outie was unacceptable. "I wish I didn't have a belly button. I wish this little girl would mind her own business!"

R.L. Johnson, 2020

Below the Saw Mill

St Regis Lumber Co. (circa 1977)

Withered and bent,
a hunchback man
in morning stands.
Steam-driven rods
thrust and clank
o'er his vault of toil,
deafening, dank.
The building shakes
as cables snake
past creosoted beams.
Once tall and lean,
now bent, unclean
of sweat and steam,
the old man sweeps.
The small dark room
of bench and broom
from which he sweeps
to earn his keep -
I still see clearly
in my sleep.
There long ago -
there was a crack,
and cables took
as cables do
when cables snap -
the shortest route
from me to you.
Steel breached
his flesh and bone.
And doctors mended
what they could,
and thus it came to be.
Now old and bent,
it goes unspoken,
"A lucky man is he
for he is not
completely broken".
And leaders of the company
did show some generosity
with calculated loyalty -
the type you find in industry -
for nothing here is given free.
An offer made
was accepted,
and thus it came to be.
A family, pride,
and bills to pay
every day, now
keep him 'neath
the great machine,
to toil and keep
his basement clean,
while o'er his head,
steam pressure makes
the mighty head-rig lunge.
Teeth of saw blades
tear the air,
and into timber plunge.
Slabs of hemlock
feed the mill,
and sawdust falls
like snow -
between the cracks,
as he has -
to the concrete floor below.
With dirt-black face
and empty eyes,
into the broom
he leaned,
the morning that I met him,
when I was just eighteen.

R.L. Johnson, revised 2019

Autumn!

I went out to the backyard today,
and I yelled, "Fall!"
Well actually I yelled, "Autumn!"
because when I call him by Autumn
he knows I'm serious.

"Autumn!" I hollered.
He breezed over from the woods
and whirrled nervously in front of me,
shifting his weight from side to side.

"Look Autumn" I said,
"I know it's mid-September,
but I'm not done with my Summer projects yet.
I need you to lay low for a few more weeks".

Fall picked up a leaf
and toyed with it for a moment.

"Autumn, don't!"
He picked up more leaves.
"Autumnus!!!" (I'm really serious now).
And he flung them in my face.

"Just two weeks!" I yelled,
seeking compromise.
Fall swept across the yard,
turned and glared at me.

"One week?"
It began to rain.

I'm inside now,
sending an angry text message to Summer.

R.L. Johnson, 2018

Cabin C.

We did not choose
this voyage.
No one ever does.
Sunlit brochures sit
in dusty stacks
'neath a window
by the agent's door.
"Cruise of a Lifetime"
the cover says,
destination blank.
Nobody dares
pick one up.

There is no line
at the ticket booth
on the end of the pier.
The clerk plays
solitaire all day,
every day.
Nobody pushes
through the turnstile.
Yet every hour
another ship
filled to capacity
leaves the dock.

We left in the spring.
Been shipbound
one year now.
Correction -
you've been
shipbound.
I'm free to take
shore leave
whenever I choose.
But I choose
to stay aboard,
to sleep in your cabin.

No - we did not
pick this voyage.
But we're on
a sound ship.
Captain Blau is as fit
as any on the sea.
Her crew well trained,
well equipped.
From the surgeon's
quarters, to the labs
and imaging facilities,
everything is top-notch.

On Wednesdays
we sit out on the
chemotherapy deck
with other passengers,
encouraging and
supporting one another.
Every night we stand
at the rail, and look
to the horizon.
We make the best of it,
because there is
no other choice.

Saturday night
we went on a date.
You looked in the
mirror as you did
your makeup,
and you laughed
when many women
would have cried.
"I have four eyelashes!"
you said.
"What am I supposed to do
with four eyelashes?"

Then we went topside -
celebrated my birthday -
had a pint of stout
in Blackbeard's Tap Room.
Soon we'll celebrate
your birthday.
This summer we'll return
to the pier.
We will disembark
this ship.
We will drop,
and kiss the ground.

R.L. Johnson, 4/10/2018

Chemotherapy

3 of 3 poems from

Her Cancer Journey

Old and Alone

The old man stormed
into his bedroom,
cursing, searching
for his glasses.

His glasses
watched curiously
from the dresser
as he circled the room.

His hearing aids
on the bathroom vanity
listened intently
through the doorway.

Though he was alone,
his every move,
his every word
was observed.

So sayeth
the dentures
in the jar
on the nightstand.

R.L. Johnson, 2018

New Year's Day (at 7:00 A.M.)

I know,
you don't want
to fight
every day,
to be the hero
every day,
to be sick
every day.
I know,
you don't want
to get up
every day,
to drive to town
every day,
for another injection,
infusion,
inspection,
intrusion.
I know
you can barely
open your eyes
this morning.

But it's time
to go.

R.L. Johnson, 1/1/2018

Granix Injections

2 of 3 poems from

Her Cancer Journey