Timber

I and my
sure-footed,
four-footed friend
strolling along,
doubtful
in the evening twilight.

I counting the petals
of a daisy that I hold
in my wrong hand
as if they were the
years of my life.

He snacking on the long grasses
because the world has made him ill
and he is sick of it all,
the taste of it
sour in his jaw.

The hair on his back rises
and i flip up my collar
as another empty car
rip-roars past us
but at least
we’re headed home.

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6 thoughts on “Timber

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