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Daniel Groves

Daniel Groves is a writer from Ohio whose work appears in Roi Fainéant Press and has been accepted by Filter Coffee Zine.

Leaves in Fall Moonlight

The cement path winds between the trees

and I walk fast, not going anywhere

My mind runs faster than my legs can move

and things become a silent prayer


What say you, dear trees?

Your barky stance, resolute above the ground,

watches all that comes and goes

and records its history in your rings

What’s that? Speak up, I cannot hear

the wisdom which you must bestow

That wisdom, carried and scattered by

the wind, is what I long to know

The bright night sky high above my tilted head

bears broken braille before my weary eyes

and I weep, unable to see or understand

as my chaos comes in tow


Then from the breeze is born the leaves

cascading to death far down below

The moon burns bright where comets fly

and at last I see that the leaves in fall moonlight

cast shadows which dance and move and flow

It is by this dancing that my running

thoughts tire and my legs can regain

their status as the support my body knows


And then, I am calm.


So fresh in the morning, the coffee was flowing

The people came in and excitement was growing

A great day ahead; everybody was glowing

Not even one grumble or moan


My face effervescent, my mind not full moving

The day could do nothing but keep on improving

I thought to myself “this is oh, so approving”

But then began wailing the phone


I sighed and picked up to a customer running

Their mouth with no breaths in between, it was stunning

Right after the click, it again began gunning

To trap me and make me its own


“Hello” I did say to the next lucky person

But immediately, things started to worsen

Too early this morning to carry the burden

And deal with these people alone


So I set it aside and kept myself working

For one moment, I even thought about smirking

But my eye caught a glimpse of that noisy box lurking

Right there in my personal zone


Each ring made me feel like a master chef dicing

My time into mincemeat with nothing sufficing

That small, screaming monster, oh God stop enticing

My fist which will smash you like stone


It won’t ever stop and will never surrender

One day I might snap, throw the phone in a blender

Maybe then my poor ears will return to their tender

Condition I want to condone


See no workplace needs a phone that’s always blaring

To make it that way just might prove yourself caring

But for now I will just go on yelling and swearing

Till the death of that terrible tone

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