deepundergroundpoetry.com

Pick-up Sticks

 
There was no such thing as time then.
Just low winter sun
streaming through window panes,
casting angular shadows on the rug –
Was it greenish?
Some nondescript colour that hid dog-vomit spots.

Unlike the zebra-stripe shag by the fireplace,
this rug was rough enough
to burn wrestling elbows
but thick enough to cushion the sound of a head strike.

Pick-up sticks were easier on the rug;
The hardwood was too slippery.
We had such attention spans then,
carefully levering the reds
out from under the blues and greens,
hardly breathing…
steady hands.

We even slid them back into their tube
with that satisfying clatter-clink,
and tossed them into the maple toy box
when we got the call for supper
and the existence of the clock became apparent again.

Written by brokentitanium (k.)
Published
Author's Note
#5/30
Art-inspired. You know who you are.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6 reading list entries 2
comments 10 reads 344
Commenting Preference: 
The author is looking for friendly feedback.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 12:43pm by nightbirdblue
COMPETITIONS
Today 12:24pm by Razzerleaf
POETRY
Today 11:05am by Grace
COMPETITIONS
Today 10:11am by mel44
SPEAKEASY
Today 8:32am by Josh
SPEAKEASY
Today 8:20am by Northern_Soul