A stone path with a high dirt periphery.
Signs of attempted escape,
footholds dug into weathered walls.
The sea should be quite close.
I had intended to pack our lunch in wax paper,
then fold the creases back into something smooth,
but I loitered too long near your vestibule.The wastefulness is just reaching me now.
Colin James has a chapbook of poems, Dreams of the Really Annoying, out from firstname.lastname@example.org.