that sickening crunch
of his hand through the drywall
so vast, that fist and rage
i could stick my head into the space
or maybe reach in
and pull out a bright bouquet
or a white rabbit
or perhaps a wedding ring
still attached to the finger
from some twilight zone known only by
hotheaded men and architects
but we leave the hole untouched
and unpatched
and never speak of it again
YOU ARE READING
escapril
Poetrybathing in spring showers. basking in cool shadows. a poem everyday in April. Copyright 2019 @timespieces