Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Juicy Plumb's


One of those days,
it is hot.
Talking to myself,
I am not.
Hanging above,
Ripe for the sun.

Where the bird's nest,
they use the same hole.
As it drips,
from the end of the day before.

Submitted: Saturday, May 11, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013

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