Dawn Patrol
Crack, crack go eggs on the skillet. Now and then
a small streak of blood. Scrambled one day, sunny
side up the next. He’s gone of course but like always
the mourning doves call, they call through dawn.
There are giant waves to surf, perilous cliffs to climb.
Adrenaline chase on the dawn patrol is what he calls it.
Hummingbirds click calls like friends on the welcome
mat. They hover nearby, their wings beating hard.
They must know a secret or two, but off they dash.
There’s never time to say bye. The eggs have cooled
again as they always do. My son remains a long way
from home. The world is full of unknowns.
Richard L. Matta’s poetry has appeared in MacQueen’s Quinterly, Stirring, Gyroscope, ONE ART, Watershed Review, many international haiku journals, and elsewhere. He was recently nominated for a Pushcart, and is an award-winning short form poet.
