Sidewalk

The sidewalk steamed

from today’s rain.

The white pickets

outlined my way.

Fencing in… (Out?)

…beautiful Things.

I wondered ‘loud,

“What’s kept from me?

I walked and walked,

fingertips touched,

those slats and gaps,

some slick, some rough.

This new journey,

this one-time pass,

the fence ended,

Beyond? Just grass.


© All rights reserved, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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