3 poems by R. Gerry Fabian [Poetry]

Electronic Forecasts

I am currently living

a paper cut pizza mouth

series of stubbed toe events:

the garbage not picked up,

the daily paper front yard search,

the wrong mail delivered,

the misdialed phone call,

the barrage of emails from

Russian, Asian and Black women

who wish to date me.


I long for my early years

when you went to bed

on a winter’s evening,

woke to a huge snowfall,

trudged to the bus stop,

waited for a half hour,

and raced back home

because the bus

never came.



The Broken Edges Of Tomorrow

It is what we never see coming:

the car that won’t start –

the child screaming with a fever –

the grandmother rushed to the hospital –

the sale’s meeting cancelled –

the dog that gets loose –

the toilet overflowing .


Then you,

sitting with pale, weak coffee

because the coffee maker

is fifteen years old,

must instantly develop a plan

to smooth the edges




Your ocean eyes

were always out of place

in school


whenever there was a swell;

the teachers punished you.


Those eyes have seen

too many coastline storms

and the damage left behind.


In a panic,

you flee to the Atlantic shore

where the wet, salt air

turns your smooth skin to rust

and the sun becomes your hair.


Old fishermen

notice you first

and speak quietly to each other

about the increase in their catches.


You evolve into a lighthouse

and find me

lost in the early morning haze.

So I become a lighthouse keeper.

It’s the first honest job

I’ve ever known.


by R. Gerry Fabian


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