It's Still Life

Platform Number 4

Legs crossed like
the number 4, he
reads a book, sets
a backpack at his feet.

Eats rolled lettuces
that drip red sauce.

Home is wherever he
removes his shoes.
Intelligent eyes, and
a face like old lava.

There are some people
you just beg to know.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month, which explains the surge in activity. I’m following three different sites generating daily prompts. Writers’ Digest Poetic Asides, the National Poetry Writing Month website (NaPoWriMo) and my old friend, Walt, over at Gnomes. All of these pieces are drafts.