an ordinary day above ground
by w. hazel

the ground did not tremble at my feet
and open up to swallow me. The sky
stayed closed fisted, arms akimbo like a
sumo wrestler or a grandmother or a bumble bee
like I am the plague. Every tree, every flower
never ceases somewhere. My skin keeps me
indignant while the very air
darkens to the task.

Written May 30, 2012, 1:56 pm
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