Thursday, September 6, 2018


Suburban witch


The new spring blooms colors.
But who even bothers
to breathe the sweet air?
I don’t have a care.
My car fails to start,
a walk in the park.
I raise my small hand.
Gone is the quicksand.
I race down the hill,
a heavenly thrill.
Shocked faces turn to me.
Only houses I see.

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