Thursday, November 10, 2016

Timothy Edmond #10

In the air there are
strains of summer
as if a song
I can’t quite remember
telling a story about
a place I once went
but don’t know
If you show me a
map I couldn’t point
it out.
But the smell on my
hands, dead ants, tannin
in the water, the heard
of cattle we came
across in the mangroves.
I remember after
we swam you pulled
on your blue jeans
but in that time unattended
local ants had begun
to build a nest in
your pants.
Only a short time
after you pulled them
on did we realize.

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