Riding on the Tailgate

By Lori Joseph

Riding on the tailgate I watch the world leave
My dusted boots dangling
Parting grasses spring, catapulting
grasshoppers to the next season.
A trickle of sweat runs down my neck
as I lick my parched lips, thirsting, itching
to pick a handful of wildflowers.
The fields are dappled with yellow bursts,
I feel their brown eyes, searching
the sky for answers.
The owl watches patiently.

Categories: Issue 4, Poetry | 1 Comment

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One thought on “Riding on the Tailgate

  1. Cork

    You are really bouncing in this poem. Nice work.

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