I see you hit a duck
To you, it's nothing
A mounting of anger
Culminating
Growing
To be represented best
By a raised fist
To me, it means
Something
But I can't explain it
Not yet
I hear the hard swoosh of wings against ground
Desperate squawking and then nothing
The world seems shaky, off-kilter
I see
Glassy
Black
Opened eye
Frightened
I feel myself step
Back
Away
From my own body
That remains
Stock still
Hands shaking
Sweat drop racing down my face under the
Heavy
Oppressive
August sun
And then I'm back
My body is my own again
My hands are steady
Squeezing around your neck
Thin white skin
Already bruising deep
Beautiful
Purple
And in your eyes
Glassy
Blue
Blurring sky
I see again
A frightened duck
YOU ARE READING
dogwood drought
Poetrycollection of my "poetry" might not be the most accurate description but I dont really know what else to call this mess. enjoy
