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Monday, September 3, 2012

Labor Day


Straddling the worlds
between summer and fall,
concrete 
still hot enough to melt toenail polish.
The siren song of splashing 
in tepid pools
reeking of chlorine
shrieking with the last laughter.
Smoke from the bar-b-que filling the air.
But barely felt on the morning air,
a hint 
of coolness,
crayons and construction paper 
scissors and glue
jumping into the aisles,
vying for attention.
Calendars 
filling
countdowns 
beginning
as summer 
slips 
gently 
through the gathering cobwebs
between the skeleton ribs.
Seasons 
slide away
And turning to look
into eyes 
level 
with mine,
I see 
light 
in the tunnel
and pray 
I am moving
 the same direction
as the train 
of time.




4 comments:

  1. I love the imagery... and the train of time - what a beautiful phrase.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you Corinne. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm on it or recklessly waiting for it on the tracks.

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