Becoming Apparent

(by Daniel R. Jones)

My son was it. I saw him peek.
I watch the children hide and seek.

When was it last, I seized the day
instead of watching children play?

They sing, “Olly, Olly, oxy!”
Is there joy, save through proxy?

The Salesman Passover

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Behind drawn lace curtains
they wait with bated-breath
blood-red “NO SOLICITING”
signs hung across the door.

They watch me pass
like I’m the Angel of Death.
Muscles relax.
They can breathe once more.