112414

November 24, 2014 § 2 Comments

there is precious little
like hours on a shovel
for verification of
dire existence

taking up residence
in your overtaxed heart
the feeling
you may never
dig through

to the road
to your escape
to the buried mailbox

where
seed catalogs,
waiting to be retrieved,
will taunt you
for the next
six months

but now
nearly midnight
silence

save the creaking
of porch supports,
the rattle
in your chest

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

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§ 2 Responses to 112414

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