Lake-blue his eyes sparkle in the sun
pale hair blown wild by the wind
One by one shops and cafes close
their customers stranded in the cold
on an afternoon made for playing
catch He runs the length of the lawn
peering through darkened windows as if
someone might be playing a terrible joke
deftly avoiding three lethal land mines
strewn about like so many plastic trucks
and might open the door at any moment
Down the road an elderly man cries
and tags all the low-hanging branches
buoyed by visions of olympic glory
for his daughter who had been afraid
to go to a hospital for help And a woman
Fading quickly to twilight the day grows
cold His mother calls him inside where
surrounded by dead and dying friends
knows she should stay home and yet
there will be hot chocolate because
it is winter and there always is
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
No comments:
Post a Comment