A small creature crawls through the wisps of grass on the beach.
Instead of a shell, the skull of some animal rests on its back.
Farther inland, the body of a long-dead tree rots on the forest floor.
Something claws through the soft wood to eat the insects living inside.
Fungus grows from its decay.
The bones of some antlered beast are scattered through the underbrush,
the ribcage is missing completely.
It can be found, stripped clean, deep in a predator's den.
The cubs, or kits, will chew happily on the bones as long as allowed.
Snakes whisper through the layer of dying leaves carpeting the floor.
Looking for something small.
Prey abound.
In the city, a child walks home with their head down.
Hands tucked into the pockets of their thrift store coat.
In the alley, a homeless man claws through the soft skin of his arms.
Digging for the insects living inside.
Nothing grows here.
women stand on street corners,
and every day, fewer return.
They've been stripped clean, deep in a predator's den.
children eat, happily, whatever their parents can afford to feed them.
Someone spineless stalks through the litter on the streets.
Looking for someone small.
Someone weak.
Prey abound.
YOU ARE READING
Zoning out at Work Vibes
PoetrySometimes at work, the idea for a story or poem pops into my head. No one said I should write them down, but I've decided to try anyway. Maybe you will think it is awful, but I already love this. About halfway through, I begin to mix in some of my o...
