The Outing

They pulled and strained to walk
Ahead of her.
She struggled to keep them in line.

Under a cloudless summer sky,
All she could hear was the sound of their
Wheezing and panting.

Was she being paid enough for this?

 It was hard to tell who was in control: her or them.
She was barely in charge: as long as they didn't see

the squirrel.

A Feather Touch

They swept the frozen surface
Again and again.
Shouts rang out
Across the white expanse.

It slid towards them with
Unstoppable force: a rock thrown
With a feather touch.

Plaster Faces

The candles flickered in the gloom.
She came here often.
The clink of a coin in the metal box
Echoed loudly. The plaster faces
Looked at her with compassion
As she sat on the hard wooden bench.

Maybe this time.

It happened every time.

Didn't she know how he felt?
He tried to ask before
But couldn't.

She walked by without seeing.
All he could see was her.

He cleared his throat
And raised his eyes.

Maybe this time.

Each Little Card

Golden harmony, honey butterfly,
Canary yellow: which will it be?

Each little card holds
The promise of happiness and
Perfection.

So many choices,
And too much commitment.

Wait a minute.

How about sky breeze,
Or azure mist, or sunrise
Blue?

To be green.

Did I actually pay for this?
Jammed in between
The old man snoring and the lady
With the baby,
All I can see are swaying bodies
Hiding the view.

I feel as gray as the rain on the windows.
But I guess I made my choice: it’s important
To be green!

He knew

He knew
That when the bell went,
It would start all over again.
They could be so
Mean.
He held his breath
Tightly.
"Here we go again!" he thought.