Not Left Behind This Time

Left behind to play with himself
Finding a puzzle he might solve
All the other kids went ahead
When they seen him often they fled

He was a normal and quiet boy
Mother was poor not many toys
Father had left for some reason
Mother mumbled about treason

Left alone too while mother worked
She told him uptown a store clerk
Some boy’s drunken dad let it out
He saw his mom whoring about

Grew up stronger and tougher too
Came up alone fought quite a few
Signed up Marines a paradox
A dad for sad until the pine box

© 2011 Michael Yost 05/11

Mom Warned Me

Didn’t give you much of a chance
Nor did you hold up much of a stance
Being a single mother since I was less than one
And I being the only and youngest son

My salvation was your greatest concern
At eleven I gave my heart so I wouldn’t burn
Decades later I still know I’m saved
But you wouldn’t know it in how I behaved

You would suggest behavior in all that I did
Very few things did you ever forbid
Out of respect I followed most of the time
Never really caught when I did the crime

Next milestone was at the age of thirteen
The year I was no longer green
Lost innocence under the green porch light
She was twenty five and my mother was mostly right

Changed my life’s path for good and for sure
Some would say I was no longer pure
Could or would, knowing I couldn’t change a thing
Even going from a tenor to baritone when I sing

© 2011 Michael Yost 11/04




The sheer curtains that opened up to the evening air

Helped diffuse the hanging flatulent tremors with ease

My normally clean conscience since I inadvertently allowed

The ambrosia escape from under the comforter.


© 2012 Michael Yost 03/19

Will Restore Your Faith In Humanity. Seriously.

The Long Walk

The pill will work the long walk is the key

Be patient now it’s guaranteed

We’ll be there soon and you’ll see

You will be master over this anxiety

Now pick up the pace or we’ll be late

It’s important that you meet your fate

“Bless me Father for I have sinned”

“Don’t worry my son, you won’t do it again”

© 2011 Michael Yost 06/24

The Fish WRapper

Terry looked down at his bloody knuckles, “Dammed red heads, who knew that peckerwood was going to hit his head on the cement stairs?” “Well help me put him in the boat and let’s grab some of those cinder blocks.”
Pulling up at 2:30am the brothers parked by the boat ramp. The thermos steam was starting to trail off the cup until you blew on it and then it fogged up the windows. Joe broke the silence, “You didn’t have to kill that kid.” “Joe, that wasn’t a kid or a sixteenth, he was trying to rip us off, and hell I only hit him once.”
Look at that, someone has already put their Bass Master in the water and its only 3am. The State Game and Fishing Officer pulled in, parked and then walked over to talk to the two fellas. “You fellas look new to the area. How are you this morning?”
“Stay calm Terry, whispered Terry.” “Morning Officer, we’re doing OK. We used to come here as kids and it’s our first time back. We sure are looking forward to getting some bass today.”
“Well before you go out let me update you about our little place here. My son runs the bait shop and prints the local rag, “The Fish WRapper”. We’re still a small fishing community here at Liar’s Cove. You’ve got to be off the lake at 4pm. We’re just big enough to support a State Game and Fishing Officer, but small enough that I have to share an office with my big mouth son Peter, but he prefers to be called Junior.”
“Well this is Terry and I’m Joe. If you don’t mind we’re going to get out on the lake. We’ll catch up some more later this afternoon.”
“That sounds good boys; my name is Officer Michael P Pecker, senior. Oh and junior’s a little sensitive about his red hair and only his friends can call him Peckerwood. Now where is that boy?”

© 2012 Michael Yost 03/13

To be continued?

The Curb

The curb came up abruptly and bruised my toe

I wasn’t watching, I didn’t know

My sights were upon the girl with the bow

Looking both ways I stumbled, I blushed

Slipped and slid through the cold wet slush

I just wanted to meet her, not to be crushed.

©2011 Michael Yost 04/20