Downed Lines Poem by Laurence Overmire

The phone call always comes
At some unexpected hour of the day
Before the mind can collect itself for grieving

The words inadequate and sharp
Always tear at the cold scab of repentant
Emotion

The hard knock of consciousness is a plague on both our
houses.

Farewell to one who has come and gone
Farewell to the world the way we knew it
You and I are no more, our story

Played out.

There's a black rubber tire in a junkyard somewhere
Once strung from a rope on a beaten tree
Two kids hanging, laughing

The swing back and forth
Enough to remind us, yea, and sometime
Remember

The dream of youth and longing age.

~ Laurence Overmire