in the still-dark, I am torn from the bliss
of my dream meadow by the conducted
cacophony of a snow-scraping backhoe
across the street. Alerted, my several
demons invade my fragile brain, placing
me on trial for dereliction of gardening,
participation in cheese eating rituals,
and worst of all, something I can’t
remember. I am driven out of bed,
participant in a race with no finish line,
no opponents, and worst of all, no
discernible starting point. I cannot
return to bed, to sleep, much less
to my dream meadow. This, constantly

(Visited 20 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Poetry, thoughts below ground and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.