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.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
not sure why, but i like this, the rhythm and the imagery somehow just right, or maybe just right for my mood right now…
I like the mood and the feeling depicted.
“I counting the petals
of a daisy that I hold
in my wrong hand
as if they were the
years of my life.” this. i love this.
kim
Thank you.
This is so beautiful. Kind of dry, quiet, elegant realism
Quiet yes.
And, in a way,
that makes what is to come all the more upsetting.