Sonnet of a Softball Traveler

Wheat colored fields stretch to the horizon,
broken yellow borders on aging asphalt highways
littered with underbrush and bones of bison,
nights bleed like hemorrhages, hurrying to days.

Sunday sunsets wane in hues of pink and red,
fossiled trees blaze black silhouettes against sepia skies.
Again I make this speckled-blue bus seat my bed
watching time through plexi windows as it passes by.

Munching deli meat sandwiches on discount bread,
Gritting my teeth against the mental blisters
Bore from mouths of meddling girls misled;
Insecurities feed like lions on their whispers.

Perfumes of coastal clay, salt sweat and grass stains;
Dreaming in visions of glory and waking in aches of pain.

 


 

One comment

  1. I have a poem titled “Pink” that is my young minds version of the whispers fueling the lions of insecurity I bear. Great poem with imagery I could envision in my own mind.

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