Habit

Happened like this.
A shriveled hand gouged me
by the side of the road.

Don’t know where, don’t know why.
That hand pulled me into the dark.

Couldn’t find the road again.
The trees couldn’t give me directions.

Pants ripped in minutes,
karma got me.
I looked at a doe,
she looked at me.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children. View all posts by Aidan Badinger