atrophy

wrong day for the fall picnic,
as the sky empties its bladder
on everything and everyone,
and the gale-force wind
gives flight to the previously flightless:
yes, today, penguins and pigs
are set loose to soar
along with the fast food wrappers
and Dunkin Donuts cups;
the flotsam and jetsam
of the brave new century,
as we worry ourselves into cocoons,
hiding, hiding, hiding,
lest we be discovered by the wolf,
who looks very much like us;
in here, we are safe,
from this nasty weather
and that nasty wolf,
even though we find it increasingly
hard to move, to breathe,
and slowly, imperceptibly,
we simply atrophy.



October 18, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.