Don Tiedemann Poems

they are
the margin notes of city life
details optional to any story
...

Her father owned a row home
on Sollers Point road
just like all the other
row homes owned
...

The fireflies rise like dust from a dirt road,
like hot ash from an untended fire.
June is contraband, ill-gotten time
to be squandered like prize money.
...

A child is not picked up after practice.
School is over. Nothing left but the
late afternoon, ungraded activities....
soccer, band, chess club. No more
...

The honking geese
are flying low.
They winter near
here on the lake
...

the sun pulls a kilroy
over the trees in the east.
sluggo wakes a lonely boy
in his dumpster house
...

With displeasure
the moon regards
the empty house
of Jeff and Sue,
...

I need to hang out with a smarter crowd.
So many words I have read but never
Had the pleasure of hearing spoken aloud.
...

I know that nine oclock
after the traffic and
before the heat is
the best hour.
...

I.


In the harbor the white boats bob,
...