Dingy Mode
Damp bed in the sky,
mourning doves are weeping
for the half-awake are
fully sleeping.
Clouds sink,
misty-eyed they trace their own puddles.
A once barking dog
falls silent
forever.
The walker is a boogie-woogie man
his hips rattle like harpsichords'
and why should they not?
Question Marks are necessary
too often
he thought,
as he made his way out
of a thicket
of stale pajamas.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment