Poems Hide

Poems hide in the strangest places
In teenagers heads and old men’s faces.

In old baseball gloves smelling of leather,
neat’s foot oil, and red clay.

Poems hide in cars built before 1972.
Under the hood of old Pontiacs, Cadillacs, Ford’s and Chevy’s.

Not in clear coat paint or shiny chrome,
But in the grime, behind the vacuum port you forgot to close.

You remember the one.
It kept that car from running for a whole summer,
Helped you teach neighborhood kids new colorful words.

Poems hide in swirling pools
of a still snow covered creek in Wyoming,
in July.

Poems hide in long road trips with friends.
In the hours you can go without saying a word,
And when finally you speak, wisdom and sanity and poetry.

Poems hide in family members who drink to much, curse to much, and make life fun, too much.

Poems hide in your daughter’s curly hair and her big belly laugh,
Far too big and happy and amazing to come from such a little human being.

Poems hide also in her scowl that is also too big for her size, and eerily similar to your own.

Poems hide in your son’s left handed deliver of a football, baseball, basketball…
Poetry in motion with every catch, pitch and shot.

Poems hide anywhere you are willing to look.
You won’t find them in a glance or a scan.

But take the time to inquire with hardened eyes and calloused hands,
in the places where life disciplines, shapes, and forms character.


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