A single thimble
on a bald hill, being thrown
by a Peter Pan wind and my best friend’s father
attempts to snatch it before it escapes—
But misses.

All’s exposed. He laughs like a barrel, like a tenderloin, like a rose-of-sharon bush blossoming.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s