I know you wish to see
what makes me tick?
See the ticks on me.
Amazed at some level that I,
whom has been in a bomb blast,
looking sometimes whole again.
Bringing my quiet body to
Dragging it, funnily, all over the place.
You'll see into me then,
meat scars,
wide hurt showing.
Shoveling snow into holes.
The gold all the true gold of earth
taken.
I can touch my hands over
your things.
They are still
waiting for you.
Maybe I believe that if I
stay close
to these objects, their so hard held in, pain.
Peter Layton's poetry has appeared in Frontier, The Sheltered Poet, The 13th Warrior Review, The Plastic Tower, Wild Violet and Perspectives among many, many others. He resides in Lakewood, CA.