August in Ohio
Deafened by cicadas,
I spend my summer
in the vibrant woods
south of Lytle Creek.
The train tracks beckon
from the other side.
There’s a penny in my pocket
that needs to be smeared
across the iron.
After staying out past twilight,
I lie in bed, windows open,
hoping to hear the steam whistle,
like the howl of a wolf
alone in the night.
(Another poem which was started during the Germination Workshop two weeks ago whose prompt I reprised this morning.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
beautiful metaphor!
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Thanks!
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I can hear it. Reminds me of my younger life.
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Thanks. It wasn’t intentional when writing to this prompt but it turned into a sound-oriented poem.
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There is so much I love about this! What stands out the most is the ‘o’ repetition in open, hoping, howl, alone. Makes it feel like the poem is moaning/howling too!
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You noticed! Thanks!
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