Past Due Poem by Eric Cockrell
Past Due
bird droppings on the windshield
of an old car that wont start
radio blaring the news
an execution, a robbery, another
meth lab, shovel ready jobs.
people without faces speed by,
cell phones stuck in their ears.
behind closed doors, the clock ticks
where to go from here?
the groan of survival,
cardboard boxes and trunks
renting life, three months past due!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 10:25:35 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Another cracking poem Eric. Superb observation brought to life, as only you do so well.