[Critique Group 2] Sunday Mourning.docxFor 4-27-23 critique session./BC

[jamesstarfire at gmail.com]

Sunday Mourning 

C Brad Corallo

word count 101

 

The strobe flashes.

Glass disc turns in the microwave.

The cat vocalizes need.

Sun comes up slowly without passion.

More bad world news hovers in the air. 

Irrevocably, the seconds tick away. 

For the hundred and eleven thousandth time, I wonder if I'm mad? 

 

Pain like sharp pebbles imbedded in skin.

Dark coffee drips slowly into clear carafe. 

A cold wind moans, rattling windows. 

Puff of scent from litter box, wants cleaning.

Eyes burn and head pounds.

A sneeze builds, gathering momentum. 

Weariness hangs, suspended like a mobile.

It is Sunday, but there is no rest! 

 

jamesstarfire at gmail.com

 

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