|
87 degrees
by Morgan D Hafele87 degrees.
far too hot for a mid afternoon in april.
he was running
in jeans and flip flops
sweat steadily pouring from his old skin
made older by the desert sun.
his leathery face twisted in concentration and
something like contempt
for... everything.
she laughed.
like everything about her, it was dark
and she stayed buried in the shade,
miserable enough to take it out on anything
unable to mask her fear...
she looked tired and broken
her smile didn't help
crooked teeth, what was left of them
and tired gums.
she dressed like a 16 year old goth kid,
couldn't be more than 30.
all the cars spew exhaust
to cover the scenes of real life.
who needs to see the truth
hit
at 75.
87 degrees in phoenix.
far to hot for a sunny
mid april afternoon. 04/19/2008 Author's Note: all on the walk home...
amazing what you can catch
when you don't look down
Posted on 04/19/2008
Copyright © 2024 Morgan D Hafele
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/20/08 at 02:45 AM Hell yeah. And that's one of the best opening stanza I've seen in a while. It sets the tone and never lets up. |
| Posted by Anita Mac on 04/20/08 at 04:00 AM Digging the observational poetry... |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/20/08 at 07:41 PM Very good Morgan. Excellent descriptiveness of the characters. Having reached 50 years myself, I laughed when I read: she dressed like a 16 year old goth kid,
couldn't be more than 30. The implication that such an age as being old, although not so off the mark considering the documentary I watched last night about rampant needle and crack usage in this city; many of the “young” people they interviewed had prematurely aged due to their addiction.
|
| Posted by Melanie J Yarbrough on 08/02/08 at 05:08 PM i enjoy not looking down. one of the resolutions of my life |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/04/09 at 08:13 PM I liked all of this, but there is something extra in that 2nd to last stanza. |
|
