Ankle Breeze

The angry drubbing from the cold January Sun

Has beaten all the trees’ leaves to the ground;

The peal by a distant neighborhood campanile

Offers but pastel respite from this new winter day.

After hours and an ankle breeze brushes cold
Times bear hard and thoughts scare appalling—
Late on a school night and we risk a third glass bold;
Excuse me, dear, but why is it hospice keeps calling?

Home—a far place unreachable, unknowable, except as

Errant memories allow.

Three score save one with 22 gray days to go,
Yet cannot believe one keeps falling.
Walked this way thousands of times but now…don’t…know,
But why does hospice keep calling?

Tomorrow comes to call as if knowing

Something…

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on January 27, 2015, in Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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