Lawrence S. Pertillar
Connecticut
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Chips Of Old

Those cold shoulders bearing chips of old.
Unable to let go,
Of a shown molding fixed to grips...
They stubbornly hold.
Stay stuck in ruts refusing to give up,
A thick frost remaining frozen...
In their minds to a time,
Left behind by others.
To have long gone and done to thaw.
Leaving jaws once tightened,
Capable to address...
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Saturday, January 12, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: experience
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5/7/2021 2:27:45 PM # 1.0.0.577