Author, Poet, Cool.

Harvest Moon
poetry by Benjamin Barrett

These devil winds invoke a stale
bouquet from this month’s double-wide.
Our gauze thin walls can barely veil
a heavy breathing saxophone outside.

The next door trailer reeks regret
in shattered love and shivered bone,
the screaming scored by a homeless vet’s
heavy breathing saxophone.

A plaster cast for blackmail sleaze
subdues a fractured skull, then cracks
a Bud so smug he never sees
the heavy breathing sax.

The struggle short, a killer made
against a drunk, his grimace seething,
then still.  Behind a darkened shade,
heavy breathing.