Thursday, December 11, 2025: Colin James's " Disappearance Of An Impractical Nature"
Disappearance Of An Impractical Nature
The Dingle was the kind of place
you would stop to take a leak,
or disrespectfully throw a used mattress
into its narrow, uneven ravine.
The dog walkers gave it a wide birth.
A green chain linked fence
and whatever the season, wet dirt road
was its more interesting southern border.
Most chose the disappointing interstate.
People tend to look twice at a meandering, naked old lady.
Confirmation peaked with the number of calls.
She was heading south intent on some purpose,
feet black or bloody, muddied, yet still a dusty rose.
Randle's farm was displaced somewhere near here.
Apple orchards, trees with gnarley branches never boringly straight
but contorted, personalized by their lack of constraint.
Two Police cars, three youngish officers serious in the heat
searched for an hour in this equals place.
No wanderer found no mother, daughter,
sister, no one even to compensate.
© Colin James
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