End Times

by on September 16, 2022 :: 0 comments

We live on an island
harsh sun unveils daily
our tiny floral cottage
behind the teeth of a fence
red mouth full of holes
bleeding wild roses, bees
fat on dusty pollen
the road comes right up
to our wrinkled faces
sniffs like a friendly dog
shines like a compact mirror
showing off our interior
springs in the old sofa
soft bed like a ripe plum
pink stuffing a fluffy ooze
We are never alone here
bougainvillea pricks us
with its needled thorns
motorcycles scream past
horns blaring a theme song
of last days, lost time
But we turn off the blare
the bloodied, the oozing
and watch the waves come in
closer and closer
to swallowing us whole.

editors note:

How to be at rest as your apocalypse approaches. – mh clay

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