Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2016
As I write this I see you hurtling
across the delta beneath a low ceiling.
There is rain in the forecast.  Your wallet
is fat with cash and rides high in an
anxious hip pocket.  A window is cracked
to pull the smoke.  It's lunch-time and
you're checking the Garmin for a
Crackle Barrel, all the while wondering
if the casino will take a check.
244
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems