The Return Trip

The cold, wet steel of the harbor bridge,
The peeling paint, the massive rivets,
The cars whooshing by only inches away:
This is not how I expected to finish
A day that began with suggestions of sun,
And an invitation from one who's concluded
She has no more use for me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 152 times
Written on 2019-07-31 at 19:29

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text