I am a man at home folding my wife’s delicates.
Outside, there’s a ruckus, as usual.
It begins with the flies. Noisy, black flies.
I do not know exactly when…
Most certainly stop in and say I heard this story
about a city of red fire growing from your head,
hooligans dressed in red and white everywhere,
a kingdom of messengers with no king.
(Descriptions from the writing page of Submishmash 29 October 2015. Submitted by Howie Good)
Verbatim Poetry 