Withered Gray Thing
Going back home is a sad thing
everyone aging ungracefully
the family dog is long dead
they saved her purple collar
the one with the tiny bell
that's still ringing in everyone's head.
Weeds and devils claw creeping
silently around the periphery
of a worn out property
old bitters bursting out
so easily-so violently.
It used to be refreshing to visit
now I can't wait to leave
Going back home
used to be a spray of
minty green
now it's a withered up
gray thing waiting for the end.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2020
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