flash poetry for you. Right here, right now, C.A.
Jeans
Maybe you live
here.
Maybe I'll be
back.
Hands in pockets,
I see the twisty
driveway.
I see the castle,
someone else's shack.
No matter.
One dog, two cats.
A slate roof.
The attic room,
a cone.
The fence,
belt-looping
dandelions.
The shutters,
fitting the frame
like thin,
broken jeans
hugging skin.
Maybe you live
here.
I'll be wearing
faded black.
I ache for the casual
silence.
Maybe you live here.
C.A. MacConnell
