April 2, 2008
the little man sits
on his opaque cloud.
ivory converse sneakers
tiny white breeches,
a button for closure,
his shirt tucked in,
and a grin.
he sits
in the periwinkle sky
pumping his feet.

II can see
the soles of those feet,
the bottoms of his toes.
I never sit
on his opaque cloud.

I tilt my head
brown scuffed shoes,
blue torn dungarees,
my stain bearing shirt,
limp on my frame,
and a frown.
I am no match.
I will never sit
on the opaque cloud.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback