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andrew-gearyPoems
I. They move away from the sky to surround a certain park bench. Everyday, at noon, a hand is there with the bread. II. A crow with a treasure in its beak, hops away from the rest, to a nearby puddle. It stares at the water before dipping its bread, and swallowing. III. Noon again, the birds wander around the grass, heads cocking and making noise–their hand is gone. IV. A head emerges from a hole in the bush, its eyes wary of the world’s movement. Its furry body appears in the open. V. Rabbits wait underneath the park benches. The swings have stopped moving. VI. Squirrels journey from their tree, past the bike wrapped in rust. VII. A small dog walks alone across the grass followed by a pink leash, into the brown hawk’s vision. VIII. The birds have flown, marking the sky with their formations and the rabbits cross the empty road.
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Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
At the Park
I. They move away from the sky to surround a certain park bench. Everyday, at noon, a hand is there with the bread. II. A crow with a treasure in its beak, hops away from the rest, to a nearby puddle. It stares at the water before dipping its bread, and swallowing. III. Noon again, the birds wander around the grass, heads cocking and making noise–their hand is gone. IV. A head emerges from a hole in the bush, its eyes wary of the world’s movement. Its furry body appears in the open. V. Rabbits wait underneath the park benches. The swings have stopped moving. VI. Squirrels journey from their tree, past the bike wrapped in rust. VII. A small dog walks alone across the grass followed by a pink leash, into the brown hawk’s vision. VIII. The birds have flown, marking the sky with their formations and the rabbits cross the empty road.
Written by
andrew-geary
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
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