Three red dots
a story starts on a small scale
Three red dots across the page,
So far ahead, I can but run.
The dots do not want to be caught,
Do I give up and set them free?
Three little circles in the middle distance.
They move towards me, on the same pavement.
I see them approach and it unsettles me.
Do I run away, to scared to find out what they are.
Three red circles laying on the floor,
Snippets of calico. Should I pick them up?
Ignored them for now, the owner might claim them again.
Could put them on my summer dress to cheer it up.
Three red circles laying on my plate.
The end of the month, why never mind!
I know what they are but not very keen.
Could leave them, for now and eat them later.
About the Creator
Jeannine Kauffmann
Poetry writer in the early morning. Poetry as a wake up call. Then later I draw lines and colours. I have a page on Instagram my art other than words although it contains words too. Titles are important to finish a piece like a full stop.
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Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford5 days ago in Fiction
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