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Down a Drainage
The drizzle whips mildly like an omen
Along the ashen lane ; and I am troubled
While gazing through a drainage
Filled with mud and waylaid boughs,
As a quivered sigh trails below the cement
Until my knees bow down, wobbling.
I linger around almost numb
In the gradual dip of sunset’s orange hue;
While these eyes peep closer closer--
A moment too excruciating for me
For it lays still on debris … unmoved by any yell.
What I recall is a slip-sliding of our romp
Perhaps, a brief escape from my wet palm---
And now it is gone, my pet, my hamster
That I weep, unforgiving, upon rainfall…swollen.
3/18/2019
For Eve Roper: Down A Storm Drain Gone Forever
Copyright ©
Nette Onclaud
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