The phone call
Red boots have gone. They left. They strolled away.
'Til fourteen years of heartache later, oh!
A call, around the dusty disarray
Inside my cobwebbed heart, says just hello.
Red boots have gone. They left. They strolled away.
'Til fourteen years of heartache later, oh!
A call, around the dusty disarray
Inside my cobwebbed heart, says just hello.
The voice
Unchanged by time,
Suppressed memories
Rear up unbidden.
Ten minutes bridges over fourteen years.
Just for a moment all is possible,
But when the voice breaks off, one thing remains.
Red boots have gone. They left. They strolled away.
5 comments:
Wuh! Wuh! Good stuff, kanikoski. Me like a lot.
. . . those red boots have caused you pain, but at least you have dignity and you didn't run after them when they strolled away, there is a calmness to your writing that i like . . . ps. why did you go to bulgaria to live and work?
Thank you both! In 1991, I was young (well, 24), out of a job, and in search of adventure. That's my best Bulgaria reason, nmj.
red boots?
Similar boots. Dissimilar legs. Stay tuned.
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