by Jerry Ratch
A man walks up and faces
this new red brick wall
The bricks are all perfect
as you might expect in a dream
And the cement is tuck-pointed
without a dribble, anywhere
He looks at the wall
and puts his head through it
And when he pulls his head back
there's a brick missing
This man thinks Brick
Brick
But it's no emergency
To him Brick is not
an emergency
When this brick is gone
when it's completely consumed in his mind
he will take another
and another
and another
And you know and he knows
that he will never worry over Brick
again
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early poem
I was struck by this earlier today, stayed with me, came back to it.
It's really quite big.
It's really a poem.
(did you post a shorter version of this recently?)
no, not recently.
long ago.
and thank you!
appreciated.
this was what I consider my first "real" poem.
1969 or 1970 ish.
69-70, those were the days for brick poems and Jethro Tull and Pink Floyd and The Wall and . . .