By Neal Crook
The young boy grasps yellow caution tape. Feet frozen, he stares with tear fogged eyes. Forbidden swings, covered in dust, bound in yellow, hang motionless. He does not understand his wasteland playground. He longs to remove the mask, reveal his joy, release his sorrow. The sun baked barrier breaks in the boy’s clutch. Recklessly he runs, ribbon in hand. A long strand snaps loose, and trails behind. Rhythmic gymnast, he lopes across overgrown grass. Leaping, spinning, his laughing eyes aimed skyward. The golden band snakes in his wake, reflects the sun, casts shadows, continuous, connected.
Neal Crook recently relocated from hectic Los Angeles to serene Cambria, California. Many of his poems are inspired by the beauty of the central coast. A life filled with gratitude in a world of chaos is his daily inspiration. Involvement in the Cambria Writers Workshop provides the opportunity to explore his past and generate memoir poetry, as well as micro memoirs. The rights and struggles of the LGBT community often take center stage in his writing. He lives with his husband, Michael, two cats, Rufus and Angie, as well as their two dogs, Sterling and Anoush.