Sam Hendrian

Island of Interrupted Dreams

He didn’t recall the bullet pass through

Nor even remember the sound it made ,

Just that he wasn’t quite sure what to do

Other than think of his mom’s lemonade.


Well, he had wanted to be a writer,

Or at least something resembling Shakespeare,

Telling his doubtful mother he’d fight her

Until he realized her logical fear.


Now that was off the table forever,

Shattered on a battlefield somewhere west,

Unsure why God had to pull the lever

When he was nowhere near ready to rest.


Yet before his feet graced heavenly plains,

He suddenly found himself on an isle

Where tears were replaced by shy April rains

And he was invited to dream a while.


All the typewriters he could dare ask for

Marched into his hotel suite on the sand

Complete with publishing offers galore

Plus lots of grammatical contraband.


He was not alone in his second chance

As was proven by distant baseball bats

On top of bar exams and ballroom dance

And a jockey exceeding gambling stats.


Still it was done right after it begun,

Merely a brief glimpse of what might have been,

Lobbying God for a parallel sun

Under which boys could have died as full men.