Beast of burden

.


A heavy horse I swing my legs,
haul my slumped cargo in its cart,
pushed along to garden chairs.

Offer me cake to help me mend
cut off the crusts for afternoon tea,
I’ll tremble crumbs for sparrows
while you flap wrapping blankets.

I want to stay outside,
cold is a differential
measured between hands
that will pull me back in
before the light condenses
and our sighs become visible
again.

Your story is quickly told,
standing silent in the field
a vignette in my arid soil.
I stole your best pages.

Spit polish your shoes
switch on the sign,
slip loose from the yoke.
I will wilt quietly tonight
ready to take your morning guilt
and another flower from your dress.

© savvi 2020
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critique and comments welcome.
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Sweetwater

I am not quite sure where you are going with this, it’s a bit too cryptic for me, could you give me a small insight so I can read it again and understand more. Sue.

Mikeverdi

Old age I think, the terms of engagement between the old and those who wait in the wings. That’s what I get and I like it a lot.

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