~After Vicky Sometani
Night whistles a familiar tune.
June will be here soon,
and I remember when
we both got fat off
summer’s boon.
Nightfall’s broken yoke
becomes our familiar joke.
I’d color the shell
but my favorite crayon
is broke.
And the time warp trees,
chewed by disease,
are bold, black scrawls
in a foreign language
I grow weary of deciphering.
Airplane, train, motorcade–
I have multiple ways to escape,
but I’m bound to the back deck,
turning black in blue
for love’s sake.
©2023 | K. Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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