Something About Sandy
I'd wandered above Rochester aimlessly
clinging to the soundless panting I'd become
to know fashioned with empty promises spoken
in rough French tongue I'd gestured God's wrath
I suppose as port au prince came into view
a single mirage wrapping itself about quiet times
of lost broken wings floating about the coast
while ships roared across the sea as my minds eye
focused on her liberty's abode just up the shore
the scent of Thanksgiving sang the sound of home
chimes rang out as statton island vaguely
remembered my infamous pout
Copyright © Yolanda Nicholsen | Year Posted 2012
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