Growth Cycle




I miss the deadline
By a fair piece
Like a pole-vaulter who cannot
make the mark.

Every other day my heart goes "Boom!"
At the sight of this handsome one
Or that one, blessed with "personality"
In spades.

Nothing much comes of it.
No cottage, white-picket fence,
Children.

I hoe this shallow furrow.
Water and sunshine, plenty.
What do I grow?
Only dirt.


July 28, 2009
© Anne Westlund




Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 659 times
Written on 2009-08-07 at 21:57

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Brian Oarr
I especially like the first stanza of this poem, Anne ... excellent simile there. I feel the piece devolves into an angst piece at the end, usually not one of my favorite genres, still you manage to keep the piece afloat. Well written!

PS: Plant radishes ... they'll grow anywhere. :-)

Brian
2009-08-07