Frances Runs Away
Frances exits the bistro.
Her napkin falling
onto the tablecloth,
it flutters down in slow motion;
a snow-goose onto a red desert.
‘Not a good way to break-up Frances,
not cool’.
On the pavement, high-heels clacking.
Frances running,
the backs of her heels bleed,
tendons bolting her onward.
On hind legs
a restaurant chair tries to follow.
A thunderclap
as the napkin lands.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment