Public Path

Dorothy Mahoney

Photo Credit:  sfgamchick/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

Photo Credit: sfgamchick/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

A poem finds you on the internet, accidentally. You read it several times and again. Like licking a fork and then the plate when no one is looking, take the last smear of chocolate cake onto your tongue, wishing there was more. You search his name. He stopped writing to remodel homes and paint. Later someone finds him and he starts writing again, 300 poems in three years. He suffers several strokes, can’t write, dies of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head on a public path. You copy and paste the poem. Mourn someone you never knew.

pencilDorothy Mahoney has two books of poetry published by Black Moss Press, and a
rumpus of dog poems coming out in 2016 with Palimpsest Press. She is currently writing one hundred word stories. Email: manfredthesheepdog[at]

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