frost

frost
the way the frost looks

on the petals of the strongest 

holdout in the garden
reminds me of the color 

of eyes in a photo 

taken around this time of year

some years ago
I bump the thermostat up

a click and wonder if it’s 

cold where you are
as a sadness creeps up behind me

to slip a thought into my mind

of you standing somewhere

I’ve never been
with your hand held out

for someone 

defining the finite

with a confidence only the

blessed could attain
I never could figure out

the art of focus 

always wanted to see everything 

at once

though my aperture never

opened quite wide enough for

all of that
so I saw what I could 

and see what I can

and attempt to retain 

as much as possible 
should the opportunity 

ever come up for us

to trade tales of 

separate existence 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

uprooted

uprooted 
Adam

who was comfortably 

asleep when eve came along

and now having to deal with

an unplanned move
had no idea what

a twice divorced patriarch 

would have to bury along the migration trail to make

things appear 

let’s say

normal
he figured he would always be

better at the past

than the future

so all he knew to do

was to dig little holes

and take note of landmarks

turning fate over to the hands

of a faltering memory
his confusion

unmatched in intensity 

except perhaps 

by that of the

passion of the tormented
(c) Fred Whitehead 

the smell of success

the smell of success 
having been elevated

to the status of ritual 
some honor

this

         cubicle residency
fiduciary responsibility

sits

as a statuette
alongside 

bowling trophies 

emptying 

picture frames

and crystal dishes

of potpourri
long

devoid of fragrance  
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

reactive 37

rightfully icy

the same thing

is so

the church
civil rights &

vulgar

to the point
where even if a virus

(to be good hygiene)

feels so much better
cashed out for

a rubidium curfew

dutifully

in lieu

of my city
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead