Dead Of The Day Poem by Stan Petrovich

Dead Of The Day



The palo verde bugs screeching
In some unseen green tree
Near a dry wash
The heat simmers the air at 112 degrees
Sand hovers in a man's shoes
And his death looms like the little
Green worm crawling up his bare leg

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Shadow Girl 10 September 2012

I feel like this right now. Expressed well. -SG

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