Three poems by Caleb Claussen
Thunder rolls past,
like a freight train heading east
as you find your way into my arms
under thread worn blankets.
We stay there as
clouds move on in the twilight hours,
until fuzzy limb and stiff side
force me to roll over.
CAPTURE THE FLAG
Somewhere in the silence of night
a boy races for the cover of darkened woods
hoping to claim the prize or save a friend
as we play into the
early morning hours.
Only the moon and a single light on a
high post illuminate our urgent scramble
as we chase after him.
PRAYER OF THANKS
She said a prayer of thanks
every time she turned on the tap,
grateful that there was now time
to read a trashy magazine.