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Unmoored
white balloon of pulse beats
its sluggish hops on March land
matted with half melted snow
freed from a nearby high rise balcony
cut from its red and blue compatriots
still hooked onto the railing
a matter of strings becoming frayed
small white blimp
reacting to a wind that means much less to others
unsettling to think it can't find its mooring
its bustable skin
flimsy
like the shallow breath of an aged sleeper
how long before it flees to some kind of shelter
small white balloon
soon to be picked up as litter
bouncing in its frailty
blow by blow
a swivel from side to side
and always
its sense of being under seige
Copyright ©
Brian Sambourne
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