Willow Lake Press
by Pete Lee © 2006
The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors.
Jackal Rodeo
Pete Lee © 2006

Grunting and snorting,
he drags himself
like a wounded buffalo

away from his prepaid
cemetery plot --
a gift from his children,

who hang by their teeth
from the hind legs
of his vast estate.

Last Night I Found Myself
Pete Lee © 2006

siding with the stiff-
collared rules-&-regs.
character in a dispute
between him and his
ever-irresponsible co-
star on my favorite
show; and while it's
true the rules make
more sense since I
up, it's also a fact
that I find less and
less energy to fight
them, the older and
stiffer I get; and that
even the TV sided
with the other guy.
Pete Lee © 2006

He hangs around my station, mumbling,
mumbling. "Pops likes you," an old hand
explains. "You remind him of the son
he found in pieces when he arrived home
from work one day, just before he arrived
here... No. I mean: in PIECES. Burned some
dopers for a whole lot of money,
or so the story goes. Every young guy
reminds him of his son now, that is
when he doesn't take his medicine.
He gets double what most of them get.
You'll see the chart when it's your turn to
make the rounds." When it's my turn to make
the rounds, I notice one cup's bigger
than the others; notice it's filled with
pills of every hue of the rainbow.
What I don't notice is what Pops does
with the pills from the cup after I
lead him to the fountain and watch him
put them in his mouth, one by one,
and chase each with a sip of water.
The old hand walks up after Pops is done
at the fountain, pries his mouth open:
twelve pills clatter to the floor. "Need to
watch him close, now. He used to be an
amateur magician. HATES the drugs.
Doesn't want his son to go away."
The Rose You Bought Me
Pete Lee © 2006

four days ago seems dejected
it hangs its head and weeps red petals
like a stripper performing at her own sacrifice
as cigarette butts gather excitedly in the ashtray
Self Image
Pete Lee © 2006

the fortune teller
peers into her
crystal ball and
sees only her
reflected face
the eyes like
jewels weeping
blood just then
the crystal shatters
and the shards fly
|| Home | Poets | About the Author ||