held tight,
like a beggar’s hand with a penny
pressing dirty knuckles
against old fashioned lapels
squinting dusty eyes against sunlight
as it sears away the last vestige
of another cold ass night,
holds at bay
the warmth of gas
pushing to escape,
that long drawn out gasp
commenting
on having passed another day.
Akeith Walters 2011
8 comments:
I like this a lot.
Thank you, Anthony.
Great poem, Akeith! Sublime and strong imagery.
Thank you Jenny. Good to hear from you.
This one reverberates, AW. Way to let it go...
nice if somewhat yucky metaphor. ha! the one works Mr. Walters.
That you Gerry,
Always a pleasure for me tho have you comment.
I feel the vibreation from the other side of the Atlantic!!
Brilliant and funny poem.
Love it :)
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