A Mindful Life

The crepe myrtle weeps in the heat
I step out the door and wilt
like a bunch of collard greens abandoned
at the farmer’s market. The wind’s
fingers press my skin, sticky as the tarmac.
I am a bacon ultimate cheeseburger,
dripping and overcooked.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 24th, 2006 at 7:38 pm and is filed under Humanities, Journal, Nature, Poetry. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.