poetry by j matthew waters

stick hand

pretend you’re a stick figure
wearing a beret
and twirling a baton

out of nowhere a number two
pencil eraser rubs
against your thigh

you resist with all your might
pushing back
and kicking back

eventually you become stuck
like in quick sand
your mouth wide open

absorbing into another medium
you reach out
one last time

to be saved

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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4 thoughts on “stick hand

  1. Where did this little guy come from, I wonder?

  2. How do you come up with these ideas?

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