Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I was chicken dropped only a half tab--a quarter before midnight   and hurried back to my apartment before the day changed     from a Monday to a ruby Tuesday   where my walls melted and music smelled like sassafras; the flickering flares of light from two fat candles   tasted like toasted almonds     every eternal hour, or minute, or so, I would try to tiptoe down the hall   past the sleeping neighbors who were all dreaming of me, skulking past their locked doors but I never made it to the street a feat that would have demanded I stop giggling, and my heart stop thumping for any pig or narc could have seen my crimson machine pumping ready to fly from my chest     dawn did finally come--I was coming down, down from the floor on which I had lain from the minute a ferocious fly dive bombed me somewhere around three   I walked to the corner grocery store where I bought pan dulce, and was glad the clerk spoke no English, for surely she would have asked me to tell her how I survived such an aerial assault   in peacetime
0
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
orange sunshine
I was chicken dropped only a half tab--a quarter before midnight   and hurried back to my apartment before the day changed     from a Monday to a ruby Tuesday   where my walls melted and music smelled like sassafras; the flickering flares of light from two fat candles   tasted like toasted almonds     every eternal hour, or minute, or so, I would try to tiptoe down the hall   past the sleeping neighbors who were all dreaming of me, skulking past their locked doors but I never made it to the street a feat that would have demanded I stop giggling, and my heart stop thumping for any pig or narc could have seen my crimson machine pumping ready to fly from my chest     dawn did finally come--I was coming down, down from the floor on which I had lain from the minute a ferocious fly dive bombed me somewhere around three   I walked to the corner grocery store where I bought pan dulce, and was glad the clerk spoke no English, for surely she would have asked me to tell her how I survived such an aerial assault   in peacetime
spysgrandson
Written by
American
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem