This is a first draft of a poem, a nucleus of the form, a beginning, or perhaps it’s the whole damn thing.  





Toxic wave of negativity

flooding the sidewalk:

A feuding couple,

their parrot in the yard squawking in reply to what’s behind closed doors.


My chest pains in remorse:

people coming together

can be blown apart by this one feeling.


Recognizing ruptures

can be a terrible habit to make,

As if taking it in would change the strange circumstance.


Letting the toxic wave pass,

I’m able to smell cut grass through the heated concrete,

and breathe a little smile back onto the sidewalk.


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