by John Grey
Only one window is lit, those familiar glass louvre slats. I briefly glimpse a moving shadow. That's where I had my desk, my swivel chair. And a clunky typewriter. And stacks of paper. And beyond that is where I slept, where I ate, watched TV, cleaned my teeth and showered. I feel like some private detective, in a trench coat, hat over my eyes, cigarette dangling from my mouth. And let's not forget the 45... the gat, that is. Its cold steel is pressed against my heart. Except it's a hot night, and I'm unarmed and dressed in t-shirt and shorts. And I'm trying to be unobtrusive as I admire, from a distance, the old house that raised me. It's what private eyes wear when the case is closed.
by Ronald Walker
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Ellipsis, Blueline and International Poetry Review.
Ronald Walker works in a painting style he terms “Suburban Primitive”. This style combines his interest in the origins and functions of art along with life in the suburbs, which he views in both a physical and psychological manner. His work has been shown in 45 solo exhibits and numerous group shows over the years. He holds both a MFA and a MA degree in painting and drawing.