Harried

October 1, 2011      James Hayes Nichols
Posted to: poems - 0 Comments - Click to Comment

 

She was tired and lonely, perhaps—on’ry of course. It of course being summer and the

coarse air and heavy breathing coincided with coarser catcalls, scenes, more pressing

immediate bullshit—the when and where, the how—the
why
she made her way along cracked bricks slathered in heavy air, proud and not turning

back, not wavering, never—ever—saying “not never,” never ever asking, only telling us

the way it is and the way it will be
forever
the only sound the stuffle of Crocs on bricks and the crinkle of plastic in sweaty palms

— her sweaty palms & —
The way it is and the way it should be.

First published in Loose Change Volume 2, Issue 1
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