The Snow Cone Stand

by Caleb Lewis

My grandma used to take me,

To a snow-cone stand,
Everytime I visited her house,
Out in the Louisiana country,
The dog would jump into the truck,
His name was Bear,
He went off alone to die,
A lot like my great-grandfather.

There were five flavors,

I tried bubblegum once,
And I got sick,
My grandma had to give me the green medicine,
And down it would go,
Like the melted ice.

A few years later,

I asked my grandma to take me to the snow-cone stand,
She hung her head low,
And we got into the truck,
The new dog only barked,
When we got there,
Vines were growing on the windows,
Of the little snow-cone stand,
It was the 4th of July,
And I cut my hands on the glass.

The Forest Is Dark

By Caleb Lewis

The questioning eyes despise me,

Because I can see,
The voices of trees,
The scars on your legs,
And what your mouth wants to do.
You pretend to look at your watch,
When you get nervous,
Insecurity makes me sick.

But what if we discovered,

That the trees are masochists,
When we cut the trails,
Endorphins are realeased,
And the woods get higher,
As in closer to the sun,
With much competition,
And we just walk on by,
Never noticing,
Never caring.

I hope this is not true,

For you or the trees.