everyone has shadows and grey lunch pail days
which fail to sprout rudders and float
’til submarines gloat in shade,
bleak eyes watch these fleshy outlines
above all
watch for starfish who need stitching,
in his mind,
the massive mob grows cold on asphalt
grows and grows
til he lays old and loveless and all alone,
under designer heels
smack self
right on his worth
he is sure he can hear seals
laugh
about his girth
in the staff lunchroom,
the young women eat salads
and his thinning hair sways in currents under grass blades
it is their forks, which poke him in the eye
a single sigh
he sends to his shadow
Or…
then again he may look up,
it could happen you know and
see how sun light winks
on the plump arms of a toddler throwing popcorn to a seagull
right outside his cubicle window
he could…
(well he might)
smile at the face of a lily
as she peers out of her gilded office frame,
grab the grace of a day by the lace of her glove
have a picnic in the park
so he can watch how sunlight blooms
on the water fountain
wait for starfish to rise on the least expected night
to twinkle like dandelions above his silvery head
call it all a days work
rest like a king
to rise
again
…well he could
( ok he might)
Wonderfully random!
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your such a great writer Kay. xx
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Thank you:)
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