Waking up
I found myself
sitting in the middle of the freeway.
Cars and trucks.
Lots.
I am immobile.
But breathing.
Not one vehicle touches me.
To my surprise,
and then my clinical interest,
I see I am getting younger.
Losing weight
And gray hairs
I’m 40.
30
20
10
An infant again.
Immobile.
Breathing.
Dust and sand kicked up by the cars
Mingles with exhaust
And pings off my chubby infant skin.
Smaller and smaller I get.
I dissolve into dust
Never seeing the womb again.
2 comments:
What a great poem. Glad to see you writing. . . .
Thanks. After a hiatus, I've been writing much more. Feels good.
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