Chris Crittenden


Abused Child

dented rock, long since crushed,
posing as a vertebra for attention,
admiring those

who have spines.

kids want to kick it
because they can;
yet it would thank any touch,
having waited forever—

unable to release but craving rest,
almost insane from watching
the same thing,

like being in a chair too long.

ice and petals
frolick across the calendar,
but none budge that false stare

of something that seems more—
yet hard and crippled,
not like a wheel on a tricycle,


the rock wants moss
to hug it like a blanket
and grow warm.

Chris Crittenden is a quirky hermit living on the edge of Maine. He recently had a poem anthologized by Arsenic Lobster, and was nominated for the Best of the Net Award by The Rose & Thorn.

(author retains copyright)