I ‘ve become a pile of pills
standing up here
waiting for my refills
I remember my grandmother
and her pills
they seemed endless to me
“do you need your pills”
“did you take your pills”
they’d say and she’d obey
put them in her mouth with
a sip or two of water
her last days were like that and
I was too young to know what
that is like, couldn’t imagine
myself this old
passing my time waiting in line
for more pills for the pile of pills I have become.
Winners or Losers
Perhaps it’s a roll of the dice
Or a coin flip
Or one of those childhood games
Rock, paper, scissors,
But somehow, we end up winners
It’s hard to tell where it comes from.
Perhaps it’s written in the stars
Or in the lines crisscrossing our palms
The Ouija Board or tarot cards.
Too often it seems like the luck of the draw
Some of us win, others lose.
I remember being given a book about
Andrew Carnegie to read.
Back then they thought that role models
Like that would move us along
Especially those of us who seemed to be moving
Off in the wrong direction.
Needless to say it didn’t work, but I still have
The book somewhere
Gathering dust in some pile of my lost projects
The millions I was going to make, the books
I was going to write, and all my inventions,
Inventions that never quite worked. All this must have been written in the stars.
What happens when you lose
Your hiding places
And you must
After all these years
Move things, things you piled up
Put aside for another day
Sure you would need them
Two of this, two of that
Things you barely remember
Half empty, half full
Hiding away until now
And now you reach in
Pull things out and try
To think of what you can do
There’s the rubbish of course
Or other places
New hiding places to set them aside
Prizes you can accumulate against need
Against an uncertain future
Hiding places you won’t have to face
For years or
Maybe you’ll never have to do this
J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Literary Yard, Black Coffee Review, Literary Heist, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing and Highland Park Poetry.