Poems from CH
The smell of perfume
of shuffling innards
And the queasy stench of sweat
Whispers on the phone
Covert conversations of bank accounts ...
Two young ducklings swam
In a river bathed with red
A river of blood
Their pitch silhouettes glancing off the water
As shadows, as shapes...
The time spent in transition
Not quite there but not quite waiting either
Not without purpose yet pointless,
Endless
The walk to school...
Beetles dot the surface of Planet Earth
Their hard, metallic shells glinting
In the scorching sun.
The buggies scuttle low on the ground...
The bus is bustling
And the leaves outside are rustling
The teachers are hustling
But why aren't we leaving?