Rusty Chair

I do my deep thinking on a rusty chair

By the ocean with no cell phone service.

Yesterday, I remembered the runaway truck,

Plowing through a spent cornfield

Just east of my childhood.

Didn’t scream back then,

I was young with time

To right the ship.

Now that I’m old,

I sit on this rusty chair

And laugh at all the times I did scream

And no one heard me,

Just like no one hears me now.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s