poetry critical

online poetry workshop

The Long Afternoons

The clock
grows weary
of being watched
Smoke from the
bonfire of blue jeans
hangs like a whisper
in the old lady's tears
a spark for memories
she cannot burn
Happiness feels
too painful
to remember
but forgetting
would take away
all she has left
waiting quietly
for her turn
throughout each
long afternoon

12 Nov 16

(define the words in this poem)

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