Gray

Frank Stanford

Some call me River
Rat
On no one do I
pray for bad times
No gray is just a color
to let them know where you come from
Every once in a while
you might have to use a word
like chiaroscuro say
You might be able to swim like the quartermoon
lope like a swarm of flies
It will do you no good
Unless you know how to look at the eyes
at the heart of the living
A little lead a lot of wood
You better know when to run when to kiss a woman
when she says No
Yes I am
like the raccoons of night
where the bull takes his long walk in the shade
and a child does her summer
sault over the grave of a footprint
clear as a whistle of singed hair
A bullet for a song

Ginny Stanford