Skip to main content


If Sheep Could Only Talk

If Sheep Could Only Talk

Who knows where the sheep go at night? The gate is always open and they are in groups of five or six, and this is going to sound strange, they appear to be gossiping—talking over the nights’ doing, as it were..
When they see me--they spread out—away from their groups. I wouldn’t be surprised if they began whistling to show that nothing was going on but I know better.
I asked Butch, my next-door neighbor, (if you can call ten acres away next door) if he was having the same problem with his sheep but he laughed and asked if I thought they had night jobs or were going to the truck stop and putting out?
There’s no doubt that Butch will be at the barber shop tomorrow getting a trim and spreading the word of my sheep problem and thoughts. I shouldn’t have said anything.
So I stayed up last night with the house lights off and the exterior lights on and I saw Woolly, our sheep dog, the same off white color as the sheep, amble over to the gate, stand up on his hind paws, an…

Shrewsbury Street


Shrewsbury Street 


I suppose all that I really want some days

is to walk into a corner market

with a lunch counter and a juke box

order an ice cold Coke

and listen to men talk about baseball

faulty starters and local politics


If you think I’m kidding I swear that I am

sincere as this is a kind of American zen

I can practice and not feel entirely phoney


Even though it’s a wish I probably picked up

from some novel or old film

and though I’m sure to be disappointed when

it isn’t as photogenic an experience as I mean

it to be, it still won’t matter


There's always the clatter

of coffee cups and faux porcelain plates

in an old diner

on Shrewsbury Street in Worcester, Mass

which I do remember


A diner with 6 booths

and hometown brewed Polar root beer

where you could order a plate

of Boston baked beans

a wedge of pie and refillable coffee

and the short order cook

who was a card

would let you stay late

talking about what a good man was

so long as he got a few words in

and you managed not to praise the Yankees.


 Jeremy Nathan Marks


Jeremy Nathan Marks is a poet, teacher and podcaster living in London, Ontario. His poetry has appeared in places like Lake, Muddy River Review, The Hopper, Morel Magazine, Nomadic Magazine, Jewish Literary Journal, The Blue Hour, Up The Staircase Quarterly, Eunoia Review, Word Fountain, Futures Trading Lit and Green Writers Press. He has poems appearing in I-70 Review, Chiron Review and All For One Journal later this summer.



  1. I very much enjoyed this and the sentiment of it..

  2. Pamela A. CorbettAugust 8, 2017 at 7:58 AM

    I enjoyed this quite a bit. I can see it and imagine the ambience of such a place. I too would like to be a part of a scene as this, even though
    I am a Yankee fan.


Post a Comment

Popular Posts