She carried his cards and letters,
bundled with a rubber band,
in her yellow raincoat.
He stood on the motel roof,
watching the freeway paint the night,
headlights begging the question,
Will I ever get it right?
She mumbles from below.
Depends if you take the right exit
and feed that mutt that you’ve been ignoring.
She chuckled, fragile as exotic china.
He wanted to catch that laugh,
eat it,
and let it nourish him.
He traced the lines of his face
in a rain puddle,
dreaming of mountains that needed climbed,
thinking maybe
he could fix one fucking thing
before the sun went down.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you.
A trip into your mind, reveals how damaged we are as no one is set free. Unfiltered brilliance in your poetry & how you cut through the grit with your ideas. Great!
I appreciate it.
What I love about this is the double reflection. The reflection of the writer and the reflection of lights on the freeway. They blend beautifully into something very deep and human
Thank you so much Willow.
I think this is probably my most favouwritest of your little masterpieces to date Thomas .. actually, I’m pretty sure its write up there near the summit .. Neville
Thank you, my friend.