Birthday Washup

I hung on to wishes belated
in a dreamland with hair dyed
green like an unsure teenager
or like the summer hills crying.

When the games are rid of politics
they cannot be won by words
when the yard is empty of people
it is filled with flooding birds.

In a vigil of heat and hunger
stripped of most of my fatalities
strapped to comets and asteroids
all my parts and tender proclivities.

There is no economical nirvana
only cheap survival strategies
until you’re old enough to wash
up on the beach of apostrophes.

Finally tasting cured seaweed
picked up like interesting driftwood
I could hear the sharks I escaped
wishing me a salty birthday.

Advertisements

About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s