a black, pock-marked marble,
does a roulette-spin in my palm
and comes to a rest in a fleshy pit of lifeline.
Targeted by puries and steelies,
and knocked about by pocket-rocks, this refugee
from a pair of patched and sprinting dungarees
tumbled through a wad of candy bar wrapper
and slipped past the lint to find a hole
open to a boy’s leg. Held up to the sun,
between forefinger and thumb,
this glass ball, this frozen globe,
becomes a satellite knocked out of orbit,
seeking shelter in this sector of the Milky Way,
in the pocket of my garden jeans.
~ Tim Pettet
Timothy Pettet lives in Kansas City, MO. Writing poems since he was 18, he began considering himself a poet at the age 50. His first book, ZERO Shines Light Through Water AND Watches the Words Emerge. MONA Paints, is due to be published during Pettet’s 64th year.