At Ten Past the Hour

Under the formulaic trees,
one like another, repeated through the parking lot,
there are only crows
and a girl.
They both stand awkwardly
on legs or shoes
not meant for walking.
She doesn’t say it,
but she is waiting for someone.
They don’t say it,
but they are waiting for her to leave.
It will go on for hours like this,
but only the birds will complain.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s