By Jack Bowman.
It’s May, Frank’s eyes continue to blur,
he loses things, forgets, gets frustrated easily
some pressure;
a new found irritant,
an itchy wound where none was before
he gets his youngest, gives him the easy Canon, he uses his phone
takes off toward Tujunga, after 3 attempts to get through, they find it,
Mt Gleeson Rd., which leads up and over,
the road behind the mountains,
it seems, others have found it too,
many cars, hard to see the people, a few doing social distancing
the rocks are there, the cliffs, drying creeks, sand, bridges,
a kite
and then the view,
they stop exit the car and take it in, a few photos, but the expanse is wide;
a valley with high mountains on each side, green of spring, a misty fog makes him wonder if it’s all real,
but he takes it in anyway
shows his son how to work the camera,
it works, irritation suspended,
mountain driving, beauty and secrets
hidden in the travertine and limestone,
it feels
just fine.
Poet Bio:
Jack G. Bowman is a poet, composer, performer and psychotherapist based in Southern California. His poems have been widely published in small presses across the US, UK, India, Mexico and on the internet since 1991. He has written reviews for Poetix and Poetic Diversity, he was a member of the poetry groups; Third Person Singular, Duotribe and The Furniture Guild Poets, in recent years, he has been published in Altadena Poetry Quarterly, Spectrum Anthologies and Fevers of the Mind, He was nominated for a Push-Cart Prize in 2016.
Nalubaale Review Literary Magazine 