Trees are cotton plants
cupping budding clouds,
ready to pluck
in the backbreaking August heat.
Beside me, on the front seat,
a burlap bag grows heavy.
Row by row
monotonous work week;
life grows woolen,
and I’m left with this itchy disposition
and a blanket-less night,
wondering how I got it wrong
when I nurtured everything right.
© 2022 | K.Hartless





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