The town crier finds me slumped
over my own porch step at dawn
Don’t kick me when I’m down
Downed
Drowned
my sorrow gurgling like a babbling brook
Broke
Bricked
the bell ringing over the square
the bell curve
the curve of the glass
The curl of her hand
as she gentled shut the door behind me.
I wrote this as part of National Poetry Month this year, when I participated in a challenge to write 30 rough drafts of 30 poems in 30 days!
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