Tuesday, November 7, 2023

poem

 Breadcrumbs

At this stage

We're breadcrumbs

Tracing a path

Through the forest

From wherever we are

Now back to a place 

Once called home

The birds are either

Not very hungry

Or all dead  

The witch is eating

Chicken cacciatore

And the dad 

Has sold his ax

To pay his child support.

We’re left wondering:

Is there any bread left

Or did he use the entire loaf?


11/7/23

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