My friend wrote about an eagle waiting to fly up and
out of here.
In the distance, just a speck of life. Relieved at
never having to come back.
It was such a burden to stay grounded. So much
especially when his intestines were failing him.
Back in high school he would disappear for weeks on
and I remember the teachers would ask
whether anyone knew him.
He could play the trumpet. Jazz mostly.
Miles was a hero to him.
Then voodoo ceremony.
Then weed - as much as he could stuff in a sandwich
as high as he could stay, cursing the ground, but
still looking for a place to land.
KEVIN ALLEN was born near Saigon, Vietnam, raised near Rochester, New York, and now lives in Seattle, Washington. He doesn't demand much from life, just that he can maintain his integrity and be left alone to pursue what he's been born to do: write. For now, he works as a post-adoption coordinator at a non-profit adoption agency, freelance writer/proofreader and newlywed husband. He loves his wife, he loves his friends and he loves plain M&Ms.