Forwards
Published on:
#posts #poetryWind whispers insults down the chimney -
all your failures as a husband, friend, human
You pull on Gore-Tex.
Rustle as you walk.
A meteorological mystery - This storm
has squatted overhead for weeks.
You pull on rubber boots.
Open your front door.
The cold hits your exposed cheek
followed by countless raindrops,
each delivering possible disasters.
You pull each foot forward.
Soon, one step follows another,
squelching in saturated mud
over mist drowned fields,
looping to where you began
You repeat this daily
letting the weeks fall
like dying leaves
until one day you glance up
poke a gap in the clouds
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