I was sipping
my morning fix,
angry in my remembrance,
hearing her voice
lifting above our
as I jack-hammered
every asset
of her existence
when the lonely
old dog across the
windowsill told me
that anything is better
than waiting for
freedom to
fall on your nose;
than hoping that
the sweet scent of autumn
on the wind
comes sooner;
than eating
minerals in place
of crisp blueberries
beyond the fence;
but most of all -
he exclaimed loudly
in anguish-
than having only
concrete smiles
to befriend on
half-hour walks,
twice a week,
six months a year.
Last edited by hippieboy444 at Oct 12, 2009,
At first, I didn't like this. Now I do. Twice a week is spelled "week," unless you're obfuscating for some reason.