How I Prove Gravitropism

The dragonflies take victory laps
as I illustrate with ashes
and pale-knuckle grips
on whatever is available
on the edge of this abyss.
This at the height of my
immune system. My soul
pieced together like hard shards
of bar soap. My son’s stuffie coyote
buried in our yard and yet
still I press upward: My biochar
accumulating, waiting for
a yearned field, a tired till,
the sliced moon to return from
its extended smoke break.

Blasting the Asteroid

First day of the World Series,
autumn hanging on, each tree
seeing who can keep from
being a skeleton the longest:

This is when my fear of dinosaurs
hits the hardest. Imagining myself
as oil. The giant veined maple
on the way to my son’s school

like the stego’s last blooming fern.
Soon the Series will be over
and I’ll be shoveling my drive.
Wishing to trade scraping

for the pop of the mitt
or the glint of the sun off
the T-Rex’s canines as he
strolls the concourse of

Coors Field, beer in each
of his tiny arms, searching for
me and my orange leaves
to keep me from November.

KG Newman is a sportswriter for The Denver Post. His first five poetry collections are available on Amazon. The Arizona State University alum is on Twitter @KyleNewmanDP and more info and writing can be found at kgnewman.com. He is the poetry editor of Hidden Peak Press and he lives in Hidden Village, Colorado, with his wife and three kids.