Acidic tears

This is a post-apocalyptic world
For those who've been hurt
Or lost a girl
The sky has striped the years
Down your cheeks
With its acidic tears,
Turning the morosity copper green;
Pigeon s**t on your fears,
Making fun of your dreams
And like that statue
The feet don't move;
People stare
at your interminable moods
Take pictures, molest you
You wait for the “tourists” to leave,
For your life under
The flood of a full moon,
To commune with quietude.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

You pick bizarre imagery from the far boundaries of imagination . . . ways to describe, which nobody else thinks of, and then after a moment or two, everything becomes clear . . . we see the perfect scramble of your message untangle in the last few lines. I live in a "vacation" community where many neighbors only come out to their places a few times thru the summer. Now that we are beyond labor day, I am so happy all their noise & commotion & traffic & loud music & gun-shooting will be done for the next many months of peaceful solitude! *wink! wink!* Fondly, Margie