The Radio
I hear bird like voices in his kitchen.
Imagine gulls nesting on counter-tops.
He's gone to Wisconsin
for the ice-fishing
but his radio plays on.
Sounds are snowing in his apartment,
melting ice puddles slosh.
Today, fish-bubbles surface
on frosted windows.
The radio paddles around -
squawks on.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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