Todd with Flowers

A carrot, half-eaten, on a pile of half-written books
Empty mug
Clam chowder, cold
Dry skin

The scratching.

But the itch just moves around,

The window rattles, like Autumn were coming back

But no, it is not coming back
Not soon.


Soon, the sunshine
Faerie voices all over the gardens
and out on a hill somewhere, after a mile of flowers
a Faerie Queen singing,
pleading with the flowers,
pleading ‘won’t you please stay here?’
pleading ‘please sit by me and watch the flowers!’
with a loneliness like November

Yet that little hill stays just as far away
after many hours kicking down a path through the flowers
and the voice is never louder never quieter,
and always with just a ring of truth to it

The sun goes,
This is natural,
The flowers go to the dust,
This is natural,

The sky darkens,
The voice is wiped from the winds by a bitter cold,
And there is no hill,
only the rash,
and the quiet little sobbing voice
of the poor Todd who must scratch it

And he must wait again,
Wait all winter.Image


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