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.
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.
