Southern Evening Sorrow: IMprov Free Verse

The constant droning
of the neighbor’s farm irrigation water pump,
or it is it his tractor,
provides background noise
for the birds screeching
and the bugs chirping
and the frogs croaking and splashing.

Unpleasant,
this,
the man-made droning
that never goes away,
unlike the giant flights
that roar overhead
but eventually fade
into the distance.

Still,
better than the TV and social media,
with their constant
look at this look at that you won’t believe what happened today oh my goodness this is so significant!

My heart is breaking slowly,
in small pieces.
I was tired of being lonely.
I was tired of being alone.
I know how to do alone
and lonely
so well.

My stomach is too full
to go hang out
at a pizza place.
I don’t drink,
so a bar provides no relief.

I’m glad I don’t live on the coast,
on a beach
where I could simply take off my shoes
and my robe
and Walk
and Walk
and Walk
toward the sunset,
until the water washed over me
and lifted me
and carried me
where it wanted.

If I Walk
and Walk
and Walk
and let my feet carry me
where they want,
there’s a good chance
I’ll find my way back
to this porch later this evening,
because the bugs always start
to bite
around sunset,
and they provide poor companionship.

Posted in Proze-iac Thoughts, Writing about Feelings and tagged , , , , , , , , , .