Bravado comes in clusters when she indulges, coins dropping & disappearing like tears on a dusty floor while a front man runs roughshod across her heart, growling an age old song of betrayal, clothes dotting a front yard and new locks on the door. I remember the breeze lifting her hair as the ferry fought swells in the river & she gave her fight to its murky arms. It was a regular day until it wasn’t, her smooth smile drowning at the landing, muddy footprints leading to a song.
Today I used the word generator again and got these words:
I decided to use the words in the order they appeared. After, I looked at some of my old river photos in my Flickr and found this one of the small ferry that crosses the Mississippi from my hood of Algiers to the foot of Canal Street. I can’t believe of all the river photos I have that this is the only one of the ferries that ran at that time.
One thought on “Same Old Song”
Well, I think you are better than a word generator. But if you like that tickle, good for you. Very nice poem Charlotte.
“muddy footprints leading to a song”, beautiful.