A woodchuck traverses
the river bank in
search of l'herbe verte.
Her home is a dark
hole in the scene.
McMansions looming in the distance do not disturb her lunch.
Mine was ruined at their sight.
We are too big for her world.
She fights her way
upstream and feasts
on fresh algae growing
in a world only
her bottom half
can be a part of.
We consume things unfathomable to her herbivorous soul.
I envy her life on the bank and its simplicity.
We are too big for her world.
She looks past me and
I am relieve she cannot
see me for I know
I would frighten her
with colors she
has never seen.
A silver bullet whistles through the crack between my life and hers.
While I stare in amazement she remains undisturbed.
I am too big for her world.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment