Sweet Pea

By Jonathan Gonzalez | 04/19/2015

Heavy are the eyes of this young man.
Old as can be, I close each lid.
Instantly, the space mountain star field surrounds me.
Can I just float away?

Will you come with me?
Let’s fly from star to star.
There is only one universe.
No one else I want to explore it with.

“Not THAT McCarthy.”

By Jonathan Gonzalez | 04/08/2015

His shelter is thin, a line between him and the star field that floats overhead.
It’ll be 26 degrees in the tent come morning.
He’ll say that’s warmer than normal.
His hat says he served.

It sits atop the aged Navy man flipping through a library book.
Some words are too new to understand, as is his current life.
Joe and his wife are going on two weeks on the edge of a Colorado lake.
Rent merely a small fee to pitch an old tent.

The wind’s too high to start a fire.
If you ask him why they stay, he’ll ask you where they can go.
If you ask him when they’ll leave, he’ll tell you it’s when a paycheck can be earned.
If you ask him for a word, he’ll give you plenty.