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Past Sleep
by
Kendall Messner
Cruising short
Tall Grass
Whips my face
as I giggle in
the green.
Golden delicious apples
drip from the tree
with the swing
in the yard.
"Ripest day of the year,"
Echoes dad...
Striding faster to
a pail
by the work barrel
burdened with the
days play.
Tiny hands turn over
the bucket.
Nothing.
Feet greet other Bucket
eyes peek up
over and inside
big barrel where
Ripe yellow maggots
writhe like my tired
old arms as I
start awake
in bed.
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