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a poem by Darla McBryde

Restless August

Again, it was midnight
and he wasn't where he wanted to be
but he was here anyway
wandering around in his back yard
like a broken strand of beads,
all directions at once,
losing connection,
his practiced hand swirling a scotch
too warm for his taste
but did that matter
it was too hot and bright for anything
so he drank it down, still
no sign of the Perseids
the moon's penetrating stare
had frightened them away and
now the light hurt his eyes
so he went back in the house,
filled the glass again.

© by Darla McBryde
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #22 ~ July 2012