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Just passing through
When the wind blows
night. And the cows roll
home. Listen for minor
keys. Arrive without a
name. A Texas Ranger.
Maybe. The Grail in tow.
Ride on out of town. Leave.
But slowly. April in the waste-
land. In No-Man’s-Land. In snow.
Sunken treasure
Let me recap: At the time
there were no bad guys.
wrote myself into a corner.
Needed a Christmas Dinner. A
knight more pure than green.
A noble calling. Pulled Galahad
from the lake. Intended to
sleep under his wet blanket. And
then another. Stole your life
preserver. Pirates on the Florida
coast. Not worthy of the Grail.
overseas edition
I am a radio short and stout. Didn’t want
to spoil the end. Returned to a red and
black dragon. Knew the priest was
your father. Way down in a hole. No
chance. Always rolling loaded dice. A
different game. Told what I could. Grails
on the outfield fence. Blooming cloud of
good. See? Exported cricket with Arthur.
Now yours. Keep them well. A little boy
fell in a well. An evil sister closing in.
Jim Goar
Jim Goar took his MFA from Naropa a few years back. Since then he has lived in Bangkok, Seoul and now Norwich. His poetry has been published by Harvard Review, English, LIT, Octopus, Typo, Cimarron Review, and many others. His book, Whole Milk, is out from Effing Press. A manuscript, Seoul Bus Poems, will be published by Reality Street Editions. He edits the online magazine, past simple.