From the Terrace

by August 9, 2017 0 comments

After thousands of years
of uncomfortable evolution
I sit on concrete balcony,
far removed from nomad hordes,
earlier agricultural enclaves,
medieval conjoinings,
warming myself
in the weak, spring sun,
not entirely different
than an elderly lizard
hulking on a heating rock
lethargically awaiting
the encroaching desert.

editors note:

Even in the wasteland, we can work on our tans. (This poem is part of Gary’s most recent collection, “Tremors.” You can get it on Amazon here.) – mh clay

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