My God, I am back.
I am taken here, I am shown.
Familiar, this old warehouse,
that I knew, that I ran,
those thirteen years.
The night man is sick.
I do the shutdown, the lockup,
the securing of the place.
A half mile walk.
Brown bats the only company.
There’s a troubling thrum to the scene,
like the billowing of a black heart.
I step out into the blowing snow,
checking the perimeter.
I round the southern corner,
and recoil at the sight of a chasm by Dock One.
Longer than an eighteen wheeler, and bottomless
in the sulfur-lit snow showers.
I am drawn and repulsed, all at once.
In these depths lies my life’s greatest fear,
but I must come to know its face.
I see, sitting on the dock in the orange glow,
a boy with a fishing rod.
He moves not, and I see that he is bronze.
At a loss, I study his meaning.
Out of a powdery drift steps a Clown
and straddles his back.
He cracks a whip, and screams with glee.
I make the leap,
and now I know.
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.