Greige Circus
No comfort on a Sunday
Sunday scaries tremors,
visions next fight coming
tik tok echo
into mirrored hallways
covered in feathers and rope
Smacking insta- self lashed
captured talking heads
Paper shreds stream from doorways
Students enter
glazed, waxy insult snarl
Darts over shoulders grumble
territorial Unaccepting push
pops chairs under benches
It's a greige circus about to
shatter or crumble
which is more correct?
imagery's new to me
I'm a science teacher
I'd use metaphysical calculations
but then I won't win a poetry award
about comfort
Contest is exclusionary
to teachers--in my opinion--
We know no comfort post-pandemic
Neither do our students
.
8
About the Creator
No Real Balance
Reluctant Writer. Teacher.
Hawking vocal contests for love letters.
Keep reading
More stories from No Real Balance and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.