What Rough Beast | Poem for April 16, 2018

Robert Crisp
Protected

If there was a time to say it, it was now…but my tongue
stuck to the roof of my mouth and I simply stared,
watching the flames flicker and spread, devouring
all it its way—houses, cars, children, pets, trees, schools.

From my protected porch, I held court with myself
and made devious mental proclamations that made
myself feel better but did nothing to stop the fire
now racing across the country, hell-bent and greedy.

Robert Crisp currently hides out in Savannah, GA, where he teaches English. He writes poetry as often as he can. Learn more at www.writingforghosts.com

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