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Ira-DesmondPoems
As the day slumps on and the afternoon sun is at last harpooned and reeled toward the horizon, I, sitting in my cubicle, feel my neck begin to list windward, like a sinking sailboat, its sheets torn, naked mast shuddering, its heedless final heading being that white fog bank that rolls over the coastal range to my west out the third floor window. The fog cranes its neck ever so slightly upward to meet my gaze, like a timid dog just pulled awake after a short, fitful nap.
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Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Timid Dog
As the day slumps on and the afternoon sun is at last harpooned and reeled toward the horizon, I, sitting in my cubicle, feel my neck begin to list windward, like a sinking sailboat, its sheets torn, naked mast shuddering, its heedless final heading being that white fog bank that rolls over the coastal range to my west out the third floor window. The fog cranes its neck ever so slightly upward to meet my gaze, like a timid dog just pulled awake after a short, fitful nap.
#dog#fog#air#work#office#cubicle#sailing#sea
Ira-Desmond
Written by
Ira-Desmond
42/M/American
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
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