~After Working Man’s Dead
With dirty looks,
wheels caked by guts
of hand-felled fields,
I looked on
as you looked away,
goodbye in your eyes,
but your body screamed
don’t let go.
Wagon rolled;
sun-baked foreheads,
brown loaves,
an uncertain crop,
brittle and frail.
On and off rains
turned us mushy
and stale.
Happiness is a hard time;
it’s boring loving you.
Nothing looks wrong
but tomorrow’s untrue.
© 2022 | K.Hartless





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