Mishka
He walked in with
White Converse and
Striped shirt.
Five years ago, spoke
born a friend.
Five years of
flying down concrete
pedaling two wheels
rocking a park bench watching
cars drive by, clouds drifting in the endless
expanse of blue.
Sixteen years of fighting of
being not enough of
cracking open of
another cold one of
another cold joke of
injecting the morphine of
laugher and being of
busy brightening lives of
others that no one noticed of
tungsten in his bulb’s overheated of
burned out, gone, of
when they found him he was gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone into the abyss of white.
Copyright © Elliott Yoon | Year Posted 2020
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