Robert Halleck

The Cousin

You look like you sound
he tells her through the hug

making years fade away.
Years of Christmas cards,

promises, schedules, distance,
until shortened days, growing

desire for closure, clarity,
make a visit needed.

Years fade away in a hug—
a hug that goes on and on

as if death awaited its end.

The Shed

A grass clotted lawn bag hooked on a
nail lends its scent to the darkness. You
find the bare bulb suspended from the
ceiling. Light floods your adjusting eyes
to reveal racks of hoes, rakes, D-handled
shovels. A loose brick and block set of
shelves filled with jars of assorted screws,
bent nails, dried paint, varnish– leftovers
from dozens of honey do jobs. The work-
bench holds a vise, half wired lamps, empty
beer cans. Windowless walls are covered
in thumb tacked notes, calendars, curling
photos. A mourning place for a father just dead.


Robert Halleck lives in Del Mar, California with his muse Della Janis. In the past 3 years his poems have appeared in over 30 magazines, anthologies, and poetry blogs.

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