No one is actively looking for me now
I’m ten removes from a radioactive name
old truck old home on this quiet cove
little island so small no lights on the roads
night dark as nothing so silent you look out
and say that’s what silence should look like
days I never talk never see another soul
my place set so far back from the main road
if someone comes here it must mean trouble
I drift timeless light tide flats fill and drain
old man out collecting driftwood to burn
pulling his two-handle cart through the rain
Douglas Cole has published six collections of poetry and a novella. His work has appeared in several anthologies as well as The Chicago Quarterly Review, The Galway Review, Bitter Oleander, Louisiana Literature and Slipstream. He has been nominated for both the Pushcart and Best of the Net and received the Leslie Hunt Memorial Prize in Poetry. He lives and teaches in Seattle.