Barefoot

On the way home, about two miles from my house, a church’s fall festival swarmed with people. Pumpkins and food trucks were strewn over its grounds. Cars laced in long queues up to and through the traffic light, overflowing the intersection. A barefoot young couple, the street’s sole pedestrians, idly strolled hand-in-hand through the commotion.  

 

 

Blame

 

it was the wind

or lack of that had
people’s joints
beat-boxing
them awake

although their rooms
window-tight   lay still
consciousness
had no feud

with most    just brief
skirmishes after
yard work or
impulsive acts

light slanted cross
dazed bodies tossing
off shadow
invitation

enough to stroll
barefoot up down through
streets   their upturned
faces morning-dewed

 

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

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