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Gone Things
by
Ron Houchin


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My Silver Wind tricycle needs

the rain to remind its rusted wheels

of speed. Sitting since childhood

in the garage of memory,

it receives dust’s thin epitaph

for having been on Earth.

 

Pencils from my jackknife pencil box

sleep their lead away in a plastic

communal grave somewhere

in the basement of forgotten 

supplies and window screens that long

for the rust wind brought them.

 

All those old Reds and White Sox 

ball caps, cotton and wool,

lying about the closet of things gone

keep trying, when I open

the door, to be more than the broken

duck bills they are; two cereal box rings,

 

a Roy Rogers saddle and a Captain

Midnight decoder have lost most

of their power to make me throw

my leg over a broom and ride off

into the sunset behind

the apartment building.

 

Copyright by Ron Houchin.
Used with the author's permission.

 

Purchase a framed print of this poem.

 

Ron Houchin lives on the banks of the Ohio River across from his hometown of Huntington, West Virginia. He taught in public school for thirty years in the Appalachian region of southernmost Ohio. Ron is the author of seven poetry books and his award-winning work has appeared in The Southwest Review, The Southern Poetry Review, Poetry Northwest, The New Orleans Review, and many others. HIs latest book, The Man Who Saws Us in Half, won the Weatherford Award for poetry in 2013. Apart from writing and traveling, working out and watching horror films take up much of his time.

 

 

 

 

Post New Comment:
Cindy:
sweetly wistful; I like it
Posted 05/11/2015 08:43 AM
transitions:
Loved it.
Posted 05/10/2015 09:25 PM
erinsnana:
This brought me back to my little brother, the only boy with five sisters!
Posted 05/10/2015 12:37 PM
karenpaulholmes:
really nice nostalgic detail. Love the "garage of memory."
Posted 05/10/2015 10:25 AM
paradea:
Good one!!
Posted 05/10/2015 08:42 AM
mimi:
fun poem...I remember a red tin barn I had and all the little animals that went with it. I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up!
Posted 05/10/2015 07:31 AM
KevinArnold:
Fun. I liked throw / my leg over a broom and ride off / into the sunset behind / the apartment building. //
Posted 05/09/2015 11:43 PM
phoswald:
This poem made me laugh out loud at similar but different childhood memories. I especially remember my stick horse I kept tied to a post on the front porch for occasional rides around the block.
Posted 05/09/2015 11:17 PM


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