In order to view this poem with the line breaks the author intended, we suggest reading it on a computer screen or in landscape orientation on your phone or tablet.

Beating Yesterday

When black night slides
to dead-eye blue, I squint
at the face on my wrist
while sensors pulse orange and
yellow signals about
sleep and heart rate,
only steps flash
red zero.


Just before midnight
when all figures faint-
away, the red ones say
nothing about where I
stepped or why, leaving
just numbers like a hand-held
falcon, not quite caught,
not quite free.

—
Rick Mitchell lives and writes in Western New York State. His poetry has appeared in such publications as Skylark, The Louisville Review, Grasslands Review, and The Pittsburgh Quarterly. He has also published three collections: Speaking of Seed and Night, After Every Other Fall, and Calling Me Back Again.

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