Which Side

The fist the palm
harm and balm
the grip of calm
and deadly handshake.

On the road my feet bound up in maps
hands wrapped and head sounding its way.

The bottle the cap
the razor the strap
the rock wall’s drop
the inevitable surprise.

The coffee the cream
drip or steam
the swallowed scream
the throat won’t let go.

At the destination it’s time to leave
the trees are bare but I know they’re alive.

Which side leans
further to the center
the one stands out
from the other’s shelter.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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