The paper was filled with hexagonal shaped drawings:
Answers to winding questions we’d anticipated.
No bell rang to save our souls:
We walked the long plank at our own risk,
And passed our paper sheets
To avoid sinking into the muddy marsh
Of ‘I should have stuck to my first answer.’
We lit campfires on tables
And charred dinner at three
Until our bellies bulged
And we swore ‘never again’
Only to crave more
After three skipped meals
And a week of winding lessons.
And disappointing results
Marked in red
Onto the paper filled with hexagonal shaped drawings.
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
