The Wrong Thing

The Wrong Thing

The train stands in the station
Midnight is
marked out on the clock
Soon

Two blocks back
a man hurries
shoe soles
rap concrete
nervous stutter steps.
Fear in the feet.

Sidewalk
the man is drawn along it
One straight stroke of the night
It reels him in.

Something is wrong.

In two more flickers
of the pink streetlight
The man will meet the thing that is wrong.

The train stands in the station
Midnight is
marked out on the clock
Now

2/17/23

4 thoughts on “The Wrong Thing

    • Thank you. This poem started out as almost a story and much much wordier (about 10 x more words, I think). It took me a couple of months but I kept paring it down each time I re-read it to to to get just the essentials and make it have a better pace. I am so happy you saw it this way, it’s what I wanted – a slice from a larger story, and we are in the middle.

    • Thank you. I worked on this poem for a couple of months, uncommon for me, and kept removing and pruning and I’m happy with where I have gotten it to, it expresses the feeling I was hoping for, I think.

Comments are closed.