Skip to content →

Remnants of the Cold War

The flock of Canada geese on the hill

raises necks like periscopes from unmown fescue.

They watch, turn heads slowly,

like spies, expressionless,

awaiting contact.

 

I cast another worm

into mushroom cloud sunset.

My bobber twitches;

Moscow is listening.

Published in Uncategorized

Comments

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: