This might be the first poem ever to make it onto the FFF website.
Not much more than a rag doll
she folds east, her molted
braids sweep slowly
on top of the shoulders of an
oversized T. on the steps
to the avenue, she leans
and tucks in locking
onto me…expectantly.
I scurry and fade past
her thin eyes
with my head bowed,
to the early morning rush.
Not much more than a rag doll
she folds east, her molted
braids sweep slowly
on top of the shoulders of an
oversized T. on the steps
to the avenue, she leans
and tucks in locking
onto me…expectantly.
I scurry and fade past
her thin eyes
with my head bowed,
to the early morning rush.
