Driving down the road
Off ramp ahead
Small town lights
Flicker; the false promise
Something more than
A closing down factory floor
Old Churches for sale
Dressed in flags of white and red
Night sky above
Blind curve ahead
a little rice
a little water
time to boil
and start
the meal
I doze off
dog at my side
smoke fills
the house
smoke alarm
screams
the dog quivers
time
to open windows
turn on fans
erase signs
of my mistake
on a bright
summer day
sit outside
holding the dog
until the air clears
one blast
of siren
if in town
two
if out of town
I hope
no one notices
the smoke alarm
o how people [in a small town] can talk
His parents moved Ed to a small town his senior year of high school.
He had always had buckets of friends and was a popular athlete.
We already have a team the new coach told them.
No one knew him here, and no one wanted to know him.
They refused to sit next to him, speak to him, or acknowledge him.
He was alone, banished, confused, and lonely.
His classmates were beyond mean.
They bullied him.
He did not learn the reason for ten years.
Two weeks before he moved to this small town there was a car wreck.
A popular senior boy perished.
His name had been Ed.
They did not want to have another one.
Every time his name was said it was a sword in their hearts.
Retired, he is a book
fallen from the shelf
after returning
to his home town.
one drink
His ears ring as he
sits alone in clutter
of a broken house
inherited from his mother.
then another
The town once welcoming
has closed its arms
and scenes play in his mind
of when he was banned from bars.
his right, he says
He wants to live in style
wants to sing and dance
to live a prince’s life
with income of a pauper.
to be his own man
Blades of turbines
dance in the wind
and glitter in the sun
a quixotic dream.
nowhere to go
I discover its doors are locked
this white two-story old home
a lady I once knew occupied.
Now I find out she’s moved.
She told me she moved back here
as if she could reclaim her life
but to old friends a stranger.
Words unsaid linger in still air.
Some Kind of Mystery Contest
Sponsor: Netta Onclaud
January 13, 2026
I recommend a small town girl as your neighbor
If you get sick, she will clean your house
I am speaking about grown small town girls – women
She will also wash your car, mow your lawn,
feed and walk your dog, bring you homemade pies,
mend your clothes and clean your refrigerator
Women who were raised in a small town cannot help it.
They want to please everyone, and feel you are all related
I highly recommend a small-town girl for your neighbor
When there is a murder in a small town
fingers are pointed sideways, up and down
many have theories, most are totally untrue
rumors and gossip make the detectives blue
some want attention and offer them lies
exaggerate the truth, no big surprise
some say they were there, but they were definitely not
It’s always a miracle if the murderer is caught
she is always bragging about her hick town
where everyone knows you and there is only one frown
I am from Texas where boasting is what we do
trying to outbrag this small- town girl is wearing me blue
she is always bragging about her hick town
where everyone knows you and there is only one frown
I am from Texas where boasting is what we do
trying to outbrag this small- town girl is wearing me blue
No riots today in my small town
No protestors or police around
Everywhere I look, peace and quiet
On Main Street, three dogs lie down
Town’s not for sale ~ you cityfolk can’t buy it
Lives of residents collaged
as their portraits hang
from a gallery’s ceiling
and spotlight shine
upon their faces.
They are old
they are young
they are boys and men
they are girls and women
these people who have called
a small Iowa town
their own.
Some have posed
in fields
some by their houses
and they frown or smile
their faces offering reflections
of the lives they’ve known
but in their eyes, I see
reflections of the many lives
I’ve lived as I stroll
through the gallery.
My memories stir inside
a deep affection of quiet drives
through the countryside
and past this quiet town.
Once when I stopped
for a pizza
a light shown upon
the face of a girl at the counter.
lights shine like stars
on small town people
living ordinary lives
When I was a kid, about ten,
Living in a very small town,
The streets were all gravel,
And I was free until sundown.
I would leave the house each day,
Ride my bike to get my friend,
And we would race across town,
All four blocks from end to end.
The only places we went
Were the park or the little store.
We got two pieces of gum
For a quarter, sometimes more.
Pedaling like hell to get away,
We were outlaws on the run.
The park only had two swings,
But those monkey bars were fun.
We'd go home when hungry,
Eat, then be back out the door.
That big taste of freedom
In that small town we'd explore.
Never once was there a worry
Until the sun started to fade.
When the street light came on,
My curfew had been made.
I'd tell my buddy goodbye
And make my way back home.
A little kid who felt grown
In that tiny town I'd roam.
‘Waupaca Awakens’
The thin ice cracks
As daylight breaks,
Along the still waters
Of a chain of lakes
Melting snow and slush
Both lapping the pier,
Letting the bluegill know
A new season is near
North of the place
The first sound is heard,
A sign of change is ...
The red-winged blackbird
Their call from the birch
Is melodic and shrill,
Carried on the winds
Of winter's last chill
Leaves of the maple
Needles of the pine,
Rustle in the breeze
Shiver down their spine
Timid, black bear cubs
And white-tailed fawns,
Welcome one of many
Warm, springtime dawns
Mallards in the distance
Returning geese overhead,
Spotted calves yawning
In their fenced in bed
Much seasonal beauty
One small town did regain,
All of Waupaca awakens
From meadow to Main.
(4/4/24)
2nd Place
"Waupaca Awakens with Poetry" Poetry Contest
waupacaarts.org/waupaca-poetry-contest-winners-1
(Just a note for those who may not know ... Waupaca is a small town in the state of Wisconsin, not far from where I live. Their annual poetry contest was held recently and I placed 2nd with this poem ... )
A stick for a gun
a dead frog known as ‘Old Pete’
childhood is conquered
Alternating red and blue, police car siren blaring.
My heart is thumping wildly. I wave and blow him a kiss,
But he doesn't notice. He is on the job, not caring.
And since I'm driving slowly, a chance meeting I'm going to miss.
Had he wings, he would be the Heavenly Angel Michael.
But he is an honest cop who watches for speeders on the road.
His manner is courteous; his aura is physical,
Yet, his peaceful brow is smooth, tending not to furrow hold.
Today, I see him at the curb writing a citation.
I wave, I wink, and blow a kiss as I drive on by.
Though my heart is bursting with daily infatuation,
It is those California girls who always catch his eye.
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