Beliveau Review Issue 8

John Grey The Freedom Trail I’m out of the house.

My folks are no longer involved in my affairs.

It’s like a hike into the wilderness of my own perilous cooking, noisy laundromats and intermittent floor-sweeping.

No one complains about the unmade bed.

Or checks the expiry date on the cereal boxes.

Wherever this trail leads, never once does it require me to listen, to heed unwanted advice, to be corrected in speech and attitude or keep anyone updated on my comings and goings.

Yes, the bills are like coming across a black bear.

And my landlord is a poisonous snake.

But that’s the way it is with freedom.

There’s no longer a barrier between myself and the wildlife.

But sometimes the creatures are female and human.

Good women or bad, I get to hunt.

With my charm of course and not a rifle.

40