poetry by j matthew waters

at the mercy of the wind

nothing is in unison
the changing of the guard
but a mess
w/o the guards themselves
an old man in the corner
playing solitaire like all the others
the clouds above moving fast
& changing like a chameleon

somebody shouts
nothing is what it seems
rearranging the order of things
commanding by way of whistle
shuffling tireless sheep
to the other side of the fence
ordering gas powered machines
to cease & desist

outside the city limits
the river is green & forest red
the drums of war
bombinating for weeks on end
blending in w/the scenery
advancing & retreating
like a wayward worker bee
at the mercy of the wind

april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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2 thoughts on “at the mercy of the wind

  1. like a wayward worker bee
    at the mercy of the wind

    Artful simile

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