Breakfast: toast, coffee, swept away yesterday’s crumbs.
I scrubbed the hammock, checked the stays.
Bobwhites scrambled as I walked to the river.
The tall grass isn’t the hiding place it once was.
I scrubbed the hammock, mended frays.
This year’s sun is the end of the tomatoes.
The tall grass isn’t the hiding place it once was.
Not the bounty of past years.
This year’s sun is the end of the tomatoes.
At the market, four girls picked out watermelons, giggling.
Not the bounty of passed years.
The phones are supposed to be working by Tuesday.
At the market, four girls picked out watermelons, giggling.
I let them go ahead at the checkout.
The phones are supposed to be working by Tuesday.
Breakfast: toast, coffee, yesterday’s crumbs.
Ronald Geigle is a writer living in Virginia. His poems have appeared in BoomerLit Magazine,The Delta Poetry Review, and other journals. He is the author of The Woods, a novel set in the Pacific Northwest during the waning years of the Great Depression. Geigle is a founding member of the Conscious Writers Collective. ronaldgeigle.com