The Seville

by on December 14, 2022 :: 0 comments

Not the cured meat
that hangs over the butcher’s counter
nor the pastel mosaic
of fake nails
glued to the storefront window
of the salon
all those candies
I walked by countless times
and ignored

Not the one hundred year old
rosary your mother should
have given us
to save us from this – had we known
when we pulled the car out of
the driveway
we’d drive ourselves
into this gorge – had we known

As I kneel down and smell
these gorgeous lilies
with the atlas heavy
on my back
so heavy
I limp
and hunch over

Had we known
I always wonder this
if we’d have left
those shiny keys
in the steering wheel
and walked the other way

editors note:

One joy ride gone downright joyless. – m,h clay

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