Sunday Afternoon
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Sunday Afternoon

 Charlie Weber
 Charlie Weber
Sunday Afternoon
by Charlie Weber  FollowFollow
Charlie Weber grew up in a small town in southwest Arkansas, a couple of miles from the hometown of Maya Angelou. He began writing poetry more an angst ridden teenager. When the angst ended, so did the poetry. He worked in law enforcement most of his adult years; making stops in NYC, Albuquerque and his present residence, Scottsdale, AZ. He was encouraged to begin writing again by a friend, who just earned his MFA. He now writes for hobby, as part of a local poetry roundtable. He has nothing published to date. His poem 'Middle' will be published in another journal, in the Fall.
Sunday Afternoon
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I lied there
in the Wal-Mart parking lot,
the abandoned Wal-Mart
next to church, making angels
on the asphalt.
Staring into the blue,
I wondered
how far I would fall
if gravity failed.
I heard the solitary
sound of the train roll in,
loaded with trees, scalped clean
for the flooring mill.
When the train passed,
I saw the man who yelled
in church, there, looking down
at the tracks,
and wondered
his thoughts on gravity.



  23 months ago
Peace in a strange place. Lovely poem.

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