well, what have we heard

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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