Jack Henry


gaining on us


they say once a snowball gains
a certain amount of downhill momentum
you cannot stop it;
hypothetically, the snowball will consume anything
in its path;
trees, homes, people, lives;
the snowball will only stop
when it collides with forces bigger,
stronger, more durable than
the force a snowball
brings;

my father continues to build momentum;

my sister and mother called,
said, it’s too much;
they said, you need to do something;
as if i have any skillset
to manage crazy;

i talked to my father this weekend;
he seemed coherent;
except;
he spoke about flying gliders,
as a boy,
in upstate New York,
as if it was yesterday;

when the snowball hits and rumbles
to a stop, there is devastation,
there is death, there is pain;

when i was a kid i flew in a glider,
with my mother; i sat on her lap;
my job was to pull the knob that released
the glider from the tow plane;
i did it well;
we soared above Wisconsin, and the dairy farms
and green hills; we soared above the noise of
a crazy world; free within the clouds, heavy on
the wind;

how i wish i was in a glider now, high above
it all;

but i am here on the mountain, standing before
the snowball, trying to stop something

that is inevitable;

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The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!