It is incessant,
A constant, alive
Whining that reaches
From earth to sky.
As early morning fog
Is lifted by coffee
And a slight north breeze,
They find my eyes,
My nose,
My mouth,
My ears.
There is no pace
Which out runs the plague-like
Hordes,
The claustrophobia of
Overwhelming life.
At the height of summer,
We share the bounty
With all,
Friend and fiend alike.
Categories: Poetry