The Garden & The See-through Dress Sun Wears Today
The Garden
In its green flawed dress
the garden stands in between
two families. It has an orphan look.
You know what I mean.
Instead of the gnomes here
lie the chunks broken free from
the old concrete.
One night the burden of maintenance
leaps from the parapet.
I stare at the apparition.
The organ tunes to the lub n’ dub.
The garden holds a flower.
You should not touch it.
The See-through Dress Sun Wears Today
The town idiot writes
“I am broke, broken.” with
his nails on the staircase.
I see his toes through
his open-heart shoes.
His wife-beater reveals his ribs,
and his ribcage the door behind.
Weather dot com says,
it is raining now, and so
I open my umbrella although
sun shows no promise, no veil.
Nothing is covered today.
A sculptor has forged the town
with a nod to hiraeth.
Kushal Poddar, author of Postmarked – Quarantine has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of Words Surfacing. His works have been translated into twelve languages and published across the globe. Find him on Twitter @Kushalpoe.