In Waiting

Silence, islolation, solace,

And memories.

I remember how I must have been 


Or the other,

In a red car just like that one –

In a similar hurry.

When I must have passed the street,

A guitar on my back,

Kicking at the wild dog that followed me. 

I must have felt this wind before;

It isn’t uncommon this time of the year.

There weren’t always just this many cats here,

Were they?

Or ants, 


People. Or rather, the lack of them all. 

The heat shouldn’t have taken away so much;

Surely there are things resistant to fire. 

Perhaps the earth I loved

Is buried somewhere under the ashes. 

Altered forever, 

rather like me. 



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s