Friday, August 14, 2009

B is for InCar

(daddy, where do thoughts come from? go ask your mother.)

Trapped between the stoic and the sublime, I laugh.
I laugh at their thoughts.
“Push. Push. Push.”
One has lived many years, one has yet to live.
One is pure, one is sure.
One a perfumed goddess, one a resigned god.
But this one thread keeps them common…
They are tired and are eager to reach their destination….

Behind the spectacles are eyes that saw the world being formed and sometimes wonder where creation went wrong….

Smooth skin, soft hair….The hard head child sleeps
But her mind ponders
Ponders, ponders and wonders –
“how many decisions will I have to say no to?”

She pulled up her Christmas stockings.
Right up to Christmas Eve.
And if Santa ever decided to come down
He’d find more
Than a silly platter of milk and cookies.

Tracy j Hutchings
© 14th August, 09

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