My fellow Living Poet Chris Abbate held a germination workshop tonight, so I present one of the poems I wrote there as today’s poem-a-day.



The setting sun light glints
off the bottom of pine needles
as I walk off the frustrations
of another working from home day.

A broken beer bottle crunches
in the dirt. It would have sliced
my foot if not for shoes.
I curse my fellow man to the crickets

and bend to save the next bare paw
that happens this way then cut
my finger, sharp without pain,
smelling iron, earth within skin.

That’ll teach me to pick up
after inconsiderate idiots.

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4 Responses to Eventide

  1. JeanMarie says:

    Good poem. Bad bottle.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Lisa Tomey says:

    Excellent poem! Heal well and for critters sake much gratitude.

    Liked by 1 person

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