INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Karyn M. Bruce
A. J. Huffman
Paul B. Roth
Jennifer Burd &
Rose Mary Boehm
Michael D. Long
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2013
Silver Grey Fox
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
Silver Grey Fox
waiting on every embankment, jaws
poised in carnivorous smile, all eyes and instincts
follow me as I wade into the water.
White robes rebel, refuse to hold
their breath, choose instead to spread about
me, petals to my stem. Rooted among waveless tide,
I bloom. Stoic queen scenting sacrificial call.
Waiting for selection, acceptance, and the whisper
of my cold-blooded king breaking the surface
of this sound.
gumballs lived in a glass container
on the front counter of the little corner
store in the small Western Pennsylvanian
town I grew up in for years. Don't ask
me how I know there were 800, I just do.
I am as sure of that number as I am
of my name.
These gumballs were not for sale, not part
of some promotional contest. They were
just sitting there for show, a useless colorful
display that plagued my childhood. My still-
developing mind could not make sense of all
that waste, all those wonderful, unchewed
I stared at them for years, from all angles
as I grew. I waited for their great mystery
to be revealed. But the store was sold, torn down,
replaced with a slick new 7-11. Everyone rejoiced
at the improved convenience, the always (over) stocked
I resented the fancy neon sign and its clutter-less
counters. They mocked me, along with the ghost
of that gumball-filled jar, its absence laughing
from my memory.
A. J. Huffman, Ormond Beach, Florida