Iced Cubes
I don’t get it
The now of then
The how of why
The who of whom
Six kids one toilet
Last one in line
Squeeze tight the cheeks
Such drama, nobody speaks
Hands that tell lies
Search for brittle memories
Clutch at the past
As it fades away
Don’t like the cold
It pinches my cheeks
to make breath clouds
The bus is late
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
