The Works of Dan Provost

Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press.  He is the author of seven chapbooks; two, Fallen Empathy by Covert Press and A Quiet Learning Curve published by Zygote in my Coffee will be published in November. Currently, he is the Assistant Director of Graduate Services at Assumption College.


All Poems © Dan Provost


My Unborn Son


My life will not

be with a Junior who

will take my name and

run around in a mish-mash

of silent dilemmas…


No, I have the market cornered

thank you—with senses damaged

by darkened events that stay

in my domain…


I remember once…talking to

a former lover about a dream

I had; we had a son through

telepathy-- naming him Adalius…


“Adalius?” she chuckled to herself…

“I like that name.”


She then asked me why I never had

children—which forced me to reveal

a broken past about parental wrongs done to me…


“I could never forgive myself if I made the

same mistakes.” I told her coldly…

She could sense the sadness in my

heart—realizing I was more scarred than

She thought…


“I’m sorry,” were all the words she could muster...


So my unborn son;

you will never know the experience of being human…

facing this world…and seeing how bare and unkempt it can be.


It is better for you in the long run however, there are too many

false dignitaries and lovelorn slow deaths to ponder…


The best thing for you is to never be born—to exist only in my

older regrets…


Maybe…to find other adults more willing and courageous than me; that will conceive you within the ideals of love, warmth and caring…


This is the only advice I can ever leave you…

The only substantial words I can say…


My unborn son…



Suicide Bank


Destiny is found on

The bank of the river

where at 2 AM—the last day man

looks up at an illuminated sky,

Holds up the Bottle of Wild Turkey;

And toast the nobody.


“Here’s to the memories,” he shouts…the

S echoes for a few seconds before fading

into the night…


He then pulls out his .38; looks around

To see if any imaginary angel or devil

Will stop him…


Then says to himself “Here goes nothing,” as

he slowly moves his trigger finger closer to

an eternity.


Tears stream down his face—the backwards

Notre Dame Hat he wears serves as a reminder

that once he had better days…


The inevitable shot…


The final juxtaposition of needless life

and carefully planned death…


All close and so…so near.



Worcester State Girl at Job Fair


Unsure in her slim

Scared psyche…


She waits her turn to approach the hiring

Insurance company table…twirling her brown

straight hair into a band of insecurity…


Pink top—long sleeves—gray hi-rider pants;

Conservative and by no means trendy,


She is willing to let others go ahead

Of her—obedient to let assured Monster

Suits walk the corporate walk and speak

the financial terminology.


Falling through the cracks will be the story of Ms. Timid Creature…


Waiting for no opportunity within quiet pain.