A Sestina for You

This was an old experiment with the sestina form of poetry. I hope you like it...

It was at least three miles

up before we reached the chain-

link fence. I put a newspaper

over my head (it was hotter ‘n hell

by noon) and the sandwich I made

almost melted, letting all the strawberry

jam leak out onto my Chuck Berry

tape (I should have brought Miles

Davis instead). That tape would have made

the hike (escape?) from the ball and chain

at least bearable. I was so hell-

bent to get out. Even on paper

it looked good (it was in a paper-

back we passed around), and Barry

White’s voice was in my head (he’ll

always get in), so I was all smiles

on the line. The long feed of chain

in our cuffs was nothing (the guard made

a face, I think)… We had it made.

It was like walking through papier

mache when I took the stolen chain

cutter into the yard (I had to bury

it later – no evidence), and like a miles

gloriosus (I saw that in the book) we ran like hell

towards the river. (Hell,

we would have taken some logs and made

this into a floating vacation, just miles

of open sky, and no more paper

trails and lies to keep us in), just the berry

farms and pines in front of us, before that chain

of ugly stores ruined the view. (The chain

reaction in the joint would be something, but to hell

with them). These woods, full of berry

plants, were absolutely free, as if they were made

for us. (Tomorrow’s newspaper

headline would be something). Only two more miles…

Newspaper report: “The escaped felons, shot one mile from the Hellstonberry Fruit Company last night, almost made it through the main chain link fence. There were no survivors.”

*

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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