Monday.

Last period.

I watch her write

furiously, laboriously.

Every week without fail

pen to paper, paper to pen,

no scratch that, these kids

their millennials,

so I watch her

process, type and backspace

furiously, laboriously.

I’ve come to relish the glare

of black words on white,

the hushed library soothing, her fingers moving

clicking me away from despair

as words, her words, fill pages

I’ll probably never read.

 

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Day 18 – Write a poem without any end rhyme, only internal rhyme.

Day 17 – Hollywood Whores

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For the challenge, click here.

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