Thirsty

A Poem

Thirsty

He was a walking river,

with muddy bank flesh

and rain sluicing

into sediment eyes

Black pupils

sloshing,

the puddles left

by a late summer storm

too

warm.

The bends of him

were narrow

and hardly holding,

thin packed soil

eroding

beneath the constant press

of liquid

destruction;

He was already

flooded

when he stumbled

hungry

to my dull morning register

and

eyed rows

of nutrition information,

solid type

that he chewed

with quick biting blinks,

only to order

a beer

instead.

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Teyana Jackson

An aspiring writer and poet currently living on the East Coast. More work can be found on allpoetry.com, thebluenib.com, and in the poetry anthologies "Circular Whispers" and "Seasonal Perspective"

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