It doesn’t die. It just slips
into a different robe,
one cut from spring-blue skies,
but lined with shattered houses.
It walks among the people,
unseen, a cheerful gust twirling
its fingers through their hair,
before stripping in the middle
of the street, stamping its feet,
and shrieking that it’s had enough
and that everyone, everyone
is about to be broken.
Samuel T. Franklin is mostly from Indiana, by way of Clayton, Terre Haute, and Bloomington, where he currently resides. He can often be found building semi-useful things out of wood scraps and losing staring contests with his cats. His first book of poetry, The God of Happiness, was published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company in November 2016. Some of his work can be found here: samueltfranklin.wordpress.com.