Down the Road

My notebook of old typewritten poems
My notebook of old typewritten poems

Is this a dream or not, I’ll say
Sitting in the dark
With a magazine in my hand
And the harmonica on the floor
By my socks
The war outside continues
Constant crashing, breaking
The drip, drip of the melting icicles
As they fall softly to the ground
To the snow
Put on your boots and go outside
Slide down the hill
Across the street and
You never stop
You’re thinking, is this for real
Or is this a dream
You pass by dogs with white fur
And the birds, hey they’re all watching you
Little eyes tearing into your head
No escape you say
Jump in the snow and start digging
Tunnel your way out
Drip Drip
The white dogs don’t have long fangs
They’re just icicles
Touch them and they shatter
Shatter, Crash, Drip, Drip
And then you stop
(Hey man where’d you get those chains?)
Going home and taking off the boots
Long day, sit in the dark
Play some songs
London Bridge is falling down
Pull back the curtains
Open the window and look outside
Guess what mom
Someone started a castle.

–Shaun Perkins

NOTE: This is a poem I wrote when I was 15. I like the rhythm of it, but I have no idea what I was thinking.


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