Let’s Just Call It a River, Nosey

Anything past introspection is too much to bear–
cave-dwelling associations spring to mind, replete
with dank corners and piles of old books.

You hear it come from a minute away at about sixty miles an hour,
only to turn on a dime and squeal away with pie in its pants.

The dispatcher was a bit quick that time, but it’s no problem;
you’re used to it by now. Thought you didn’t have the time.

Squeeze it all into a sleeping bag sack and toss it over a bridge.
Who cares what the bridge covers? Let’s just call it a river, nosey.


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.

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