Two Poems

Richard LeDue


A Near Empty Hallway

I wait,
while you tie your shoe,
laces limp
as dead worms,
but when
has it ever been
any other way?


Descents

Sleep brings rest to this bottomless pit.
Morning a chance to taste broken ribs,
smashed on an end table next to the bed,
my own blood
reminds me of chewed on asbestos
that politician made a joke about,
while my father held a picket sign,
gave the reporter the wrong name
to avoid upsetting the wrong people.

Sometimes I hear myself snore,
feel my body gone limp
like someone who leaped from a plane
only to realize the parachute won’t open.


Richard LeDue was born in Sydney, Nova Scotia, Canada, but currently lives in Norway House, Manitoba with his wife and son. His poems have appeared in various publications throughout 2019, and more work is forthcoming throughout 2020, including a chapbook from Kelsey Books.