The town crier finds me slumped
over my own porch step at dawn
Don’t kick me when I’m down
my sorrow gurgling like a babbling brook
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!