NOTHING MORE THAN A NUMBER
pollution plastic bags caught on the gusts were victims of the summer wind a tired bird painting circles on the sky above the flying litter whose sound was like rifle fire watching rubbish for a while I could tell the exact shape of the breeze slapping curlicues and large figure eights helixes and whorls and corkscrews the city had been warned about waste now two bags danced in one place briefly ignoring the downdrafts then a sudden dip, a polite curtsy and away, away, away
© liveencounters.net POETRY & WRITING Volume Two December 2021 Celebrating 12th Anniversary
