Francis Santaquilani

Broken Rhythm

A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.

It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.

We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.

Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.

Submitted: Sunday, March 30, 2008
Edited: Monday, December 12, 2011
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Comments about this poem (Broken Rhythm by Francis Santaquilani )

  • Rookie - 0 Points Chuck Audette (6/5/2008 12:46:00 PM)

    Wonderful image and humor in this. Always something unique when I revisit your pages. -chuck (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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