An Ever Growing Chance Of Rain... Poem by Vicky Vickstah

They Are Acting As Bumper Cars Would,
Swaying And Crashing And Bumping And Banging.

Her Thoughts Were Wondering.

She Wondered If The Wondering Thoughts Ever Wondered Much About Her Wondering About Them...Or Weather They Even Knew That She Wondered.

Still, She Sat, Solo-ly, Swaying Silent-ly...Just So That She Could Unwrap The Wrapped Up Wrap Of Mess In Her Head.
Her Mind
In Time
Was Something She Thought That She Could Make Sense Of,
But Suddenly She Seemed Unsure.
She Sells Sea Shells By The Sea Shore,
She Sure Wishes.
Nothing Is More Like A Sea Shore Than A City Of Unsure People, Surely Surrounded By An Ever Growing Chance Of Rain.