Mailbox Review
He watched daily, and waited.
Time became a slow train,
inching by in uneven jerks.
The poetry journal lay nestled
among bills, circulars, catalogs.
He devoured it front to back.
His mind absorbed its gems
as eagerly as his teeth
mangled the peach.
The cat lay at his feet,
tail swishing side to side,
and watched a walking stick
snake up the windowpane.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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