Litkicks Message Board Archive

Something in the alley still cries

Posted to WritersAndGenres




Outside my window
trains saunter and pig push by,
slow and lazy,
lackidasical like beaches in June.
The Via pulses
running, always,
a politician with somewhere to be.
In the corner of the sill
the wind catches
turns,
panicks,
and moves away.
But in a moment
it whispers iniquities
and is gone.
I looked up
tried to catch it
even rose
from the couch.
i whispered back
but it caught in the windowsill
and ran
with the next breeze

-isart