The Last Street

I take the electric,
phases change from blue to red,
hey petunias
grow until the sun shades white,
my garden flashes
all the colors.

I’m not like the others
in this way or that,
pin a medal
to my chest,
the war is over,
marching home down
the last street.

Feathers make the bird,
I’ll stay here
for the night
if the band plays the blues,
rest up
for the long day tomorrow,
finding the criminal who made me.

I survived
without your help
even though
I think of you often,
it doesn’t mean
I need you,
you wouldn’t have been around
even if I did.



Christopher Hivner writes from a small town in Pennsylvania surrounded by books and the echoes of music. He has recently been published in Children, Churches and Daddies, and Wax Poetry. He has had 5 chapbooks of poetry published, the newest is “When Science Collapses” published by Writing Knights Press. website:, Facebook: Christopher Hivner – Author, Twitter: @Your_screams

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