David Reuter’s most recent poem to appear here was “Night at Frank’s” (February 2020).

Soapbox Hero
By David Reuter

They no longer make those shaky crates
in which he dared to dwell.
But the rattling bumps of carriage wheels,
callous against the rigid asphalt,
linger in his aged mind.
The fleeting flesh,
a leathery and taut mat on a loom,
dies a steely death.
But his thoughts dawdle evergreen
in the vessel they know well.
When the dreams creep away,
specters in malignant daylight,
I see the face they can’t erase,
the boy inside the wistful wisp
that still remains behind.

A veiny, flaming hand grabs fast
to the tractor wheel he sits before.
The shrunken body is small again,
if only in a passing gape
he welcomes like a blanket.
The feet almost leave
the greedy earth,
which hoards them close.

And so the champion, covered in glory,
takes his final ride,
achieves one last victory
before the cloud-dampened world
is itself again.