There is much talk,
yet nothing to talk about.
The rain pours,
flooding our streets,
flooding our houses,
flooding our hearts
with grief.
Damaging sewers,
damaging furniture,
ruining all of our efforts.
Bask in the sun
as it burns us away;
and to dream
a good dream
soon I hope.
The morning is cold,
still my clothes hang
on the wire,
nothing but
an apple for the tired,
wailing at the moon,
young and peaceful.
The President comes
up on the news;
stands on top
of a bucket,
they give him a mic;
He says nothing,
repeats the same nothing,
and towards the end
he says, “vote for change!”
headlines: Another body is found!
lungs full of water,
body full of death;
I rush over to look,
it’s not my grandma.
Where is she in this
massive heavenly pool?
Do not cry,
not even a little,
You’ll only flood us more
with your tears;
where is home?
Home?
A writer of prose, poetry and literary pieces.