Burdens
Burdens
Dogs wade through the pond
where tadpoles fight to right themselves
swirling in clouds of grit.
Beyond the pond,
through the trees that arc over
Doris Pastore’s bench,
down the dew slick sloping field,
across the old leather tanning brook;
on the other side of an old wall
cars steam along the wet road.
He sits in soft leather
seeing the world through a green tinted screen.
Rocking out to Springsteen, chasing her tail.
In the letterbox mirror she sees
sleek Vorsprung der technik, pushing her.
She slows.
Beyond the old wall,
across the old leather tanning brook,
up the dew slick sloping field,
through the trees that arc over
Doris Pastore’s bench;
beyond the pond
where sleek black whales shine dead in an ocean sun.
Bluebells nod with the weight of burdened bees.
Neil Fawcett
Mon 7th Jan 2013 17:56
cheers dave.