Diana Morales Poet Free verse

The Telephone Shoe Wire (Pt.1)

**Cleaners**
~ O.P.E.N ~
Mon-Fri: 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.
Sat: 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Sun: Closed

- 7a.m. 7°C - 
 
The key scratches
alongside the knob,
cobwebs capture
every corner of the door.
The cold air thumps
against the windows,
as the lightbulb flickers 
morning and night 
in the gaps of the ceiling 
outside the barely 
shut door.

Underneath,
reddish pigment cover
the bricks and the cracked
mortar spews out moss,
releasing all creatures 
from its remnants.
Squirming around, 
tossing about surrounding 
the cigarette bud left 
from last winter.

The distant air smells 
of cheap store bought coffee
mixed with gasoline.
Above rests a pair of shoes,
tarnished from all the weather,
tangled since last year.
The shoes aged 
along with the time 
whereas the boy, 
since last winter, 
dissipated 
with the once lit 
cigarette,

As white blankets
the grounds,
the embers sparks
rises with the ashes
up the telephone wire,
I barely remember
the time, 

that boy

never came back.

Edited (7.18.26):

1.18.17 ~ 2.19.18

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