A lamppost named Mark pt: II.

read full Lamppost Poem, in order



“You’ll never catch me alive, coppers,”

a composite ill-suited to this serial town,

the Lamppost hobbled to the crossroads

and held out his thumb to flag the hovering night-train.

How much time,

how much one-eyed time.


On the darkest of nights as the moon first waxed,

the Lamppost could not see the man wearing all black.

With a rose et al. law-stick, the lamppost’s arms froze to the crosswalk

— the poor, poor, half-blind lamppost,

you know he was born with only

how much time.


And that was the end.


—Unless I’ve misremembered,

which happens now and then.



more from the Art of Throwing People Out Windows

keep surfing through for more of the Lamppost Poem

and the 2017 !Short Story Contest!

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