Author Archives: Lee Dunn

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

In sin

mmm…
In this late night I find,
as I lightly finger-fluff
her Brillo fur,
a reflexive drawing back,
then a recant.
I go more more slowly and lightly,
and find that my wrist is gripped and guided.
I feign resistance by hooking a thumb in the lint trap,
but she is not amused.

The coldest knight of the year

Sack of a face. All dragged down by gravity and surrendered muscles. It’s supposed to take more of them to frown than to smile, but nature disagrees. And what’s he doin’ now, that old Aqualung? Shufflin’ along the sidewalk. Dangerous as a stage player. There, he’s found the metal grate, the rising heat curtain. Marilyn Monroe ain’t around today. Takes off his cracked vinyl mitts, sets ’em on the steel, then, by God, his shoes too! Turns ’em upside down for the free warming. He has a small buckle-down suitcase that has kids’ cartoons on it. This is his seat while he warms his feet. It’s funny, you know. He’s at his ease, if you please, as he parts the stream of the flowing crowd. Made his peace, knows his destiny. Has already had his talk. The disdain is theirs. Maybe they see. Some of them stop for our Joe, and they know where to put the coins on him. One woman told him she was coming today with new mitts. If he can stand here long enough, he can store up the warmth for a while. Just yesterday, Joe got told to move on, because he made a mistake. He’d let his bitterness get the best of him, and had jumped out randomly at passers-by, scaring them. Never would hurt anyone, not really. But it’s hard. And now, there she comes. The lady with the red scarf. She waves and smiles, gives him a purple velvet bag with a drawstring top. “Your mitts, Joe”. She smiles and pats his shoulder, then walks on. Joe had nodded and hung his head. He sat a while longer before he opened the bag with cracked fingers. There were his new insulated mittens, and some other things. Some other things. He closed it quickly, put it inside his coat, and hugged himself tightly.

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[image: https://pixabay.com/users/arttower-5337/ ]