Friday, August 22, 2008


Fat chalk in hand, bird-child
draws lopsided daisies up
and down the asphalt.

Thin shoulder-blades
protrude like stunted wings
through her thin cotton
t-shirt, mocking the blackflies
that seek the tender skin
of her nape.

They say each of us
has the potential to create
some small beauty.

Cold grey rain
painted with smog
will soon erase
the carefully sketched blossoms
while the pavement remains indelible,
its wavering a heat-drawn
illusion but its stink of tar

Rachel Westfall
August 22, 2008

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