drop a minute
next to the urn
of washington, and
cartels will coordinate
for ya
red clay and a
second bar--
a splintered base
and a moth wing
with no piece of loot
to hold after the auction
completes herself
and the rumbles
of temporary agitation
subside.
it's sad
how quiet time rests
on minivan seats and
the shoulders of
backroads,
heartbreaking in the
same way that
uncultured explorers are
when they insist their visitors
come in for tea
and to take a quick look
at the maps
they've been drawing.
Author notes
Prompt 4
A contest entry
- Its all about the comments by Never.Give.Up.
700 points, ended August 11, 2008, 27 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
*grins* I really like this, it has a snap-shot feel to it.
A wonderful write and I wish you all the best in the contest.
Rose
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