Rusted, flaking Chevy,
once emerald green,
parked alone by the open shed.
Can't get the door closed
since last winter.
Autumn leaves
now rotting inside
make good beds for field mice
and their pinkies.
It got quiet
because she died.
Black pond,
growing with green disease
out back, forgotten
amid her decaying bracken,
shimmers no more.
Crickets rough legs drown
throaty soprano peepers.
It did get quiet
because she died.
Old yellow cat,
low-shouldered, stalking
the barren chicken coop,
hasn't been around,
at least...two winters now?
My hollow gaze
catches a craggy reflection
in rain spattered,
dusty pane --
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.19 seconds at 2:08pm on Jun 27, 2024 via server web1.