Gray (Poem 253)

with birds scuttling like mice

in the mounds of graying leaves

packed under the bushes

and sleek clouds slurping 

every last drop of sunshine from 

the day    great hunched shoulders

of a rough-hewn mountain range

braced against the wind like people tumbling down Market Street 

at the far end of a Tuesday in March 

their black umbrellas bleached by

the rain and fighting their handlers

with stark ferocity    and the shawl 

of shimmering yet lethal stones set 

in concrete around the swimming pool

as if chosen with a particularly

horrid child in mind 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six