The Barren Trees On The Ozark's Flat Poem by John Ackerman

a squeel on the tires frozen in time to watch the passerbys
a decorated soldier pierced with emotion as he hands out a poppy
thank him for his service
Salvation Army is covered with brightened pamphlets among the youth
the exploits of temporal emancipation
cover me through the leaves with cadence of a swell
the dealer hands out a trump card black
as if a Duracell battery on the radiator waiting to explode

the mere notion of sweet heightened laughter prepared for the great here after
a silence stills the pottery on the edge of desolation
we work words to intertwine the frequency
captivated by a pulse that negates a bit of laughter
Barren trees after the Fall look in disarray
fallen embers pump out its hesitation