The Spark

Poem By Jeffery Conway

I was telling a story
about the pet chicken
I had as a kid-Pecky,
gray, benign, good egg producer
in our suburban backyard-
an animal I loved and protected
until my parents' ultimatum:
'Pecky or a pool.'
Through the cackle of the other
guests' laughter, I heard your eyes,
beacons at the opposite end
of the table, past
the vase of blue hydrangeas
and the glow of two lit candles.
Completely gutsy,
I winked.
Later, as the party broke up,
I left without saying good-bye.
At midnight, alone in bed,
a fogged-horn night,
I heard your devious voice call
out like light from the sand-dashed
street in front of the cottage:
'Jeffery. Jeffery. Are you awake? '

Comments about The Spark

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings

Other poems of CONWAY

To An Angel

The first time we meet
in New York City
it will be snowing.
No one will stop


Although I was drunk,
I saw her apartment had
a homey decor.

Here Among The Leaves

Under a burning maple tree
I think of the plastics factory
where I worked in my teens:
the bright chunks I'd load

Jeffery Conway

I'm sorry, I just
blacked-out, misspelled
that word, grossed
you out with my mouth