I Cut Myself While Shaving
I sink under weighty clouds.
November is in the air.
Overhead sparrows whirl like toys
careening to nowhere.
But they form again and swing
into the fading light.
I stare into the mirror and speak
nonsense to myself at night.
Autumn leaves are trembling
in the grip of an iron will,
as the sparrows disperse like lovers,
who have loved their fill—
And now they are still.
George Freek is a poet and playwright living in Illinois. His poems have recently appeared in ‘The Whistling Fire’; ‘The Vein’; ‘Symmetry Pebbles’; ‘Drunken Absurdity’; ‘Red Fez’; ‘The Poydras Review’; and ‘The Stone Hobo’. His short play HERE COMES GODOT was recently published in ‘Freight Train Magazine’. Other plays have lately been produced by Middle Class American Productions (Long Island, NY); The Auburn (NY) Community Players; Theatre Unleashed (LA); Somerset College (KY); and The Fells Point Corner Theatre (MD).
Copyright © 2012 by George Freek
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