A Poem

"Summer Day"

I am not a poet
this is not a poem
this is a reckoning
scattered across the floor
trampled on cracked pavement
the hot asphalt
burning
burns
and burned
scraped knees and torn jeans

I am not a poet
this is not a poem
this is a war cry
broken in two
greased with sweaty palms
and sticky fingers
melting down a forearm
lick it up
quick
don’t waste it

I am not a poet
this is not a poem
this is wrung dry
whipped out and hung
clipped to the wind
the soft toes
grazing the once grazed
how far can you run?
faster
barefooted now

I am not a poet
this is not a poem
this is warm mud
earthy
earthness
whole and hearty
grass caked deep in the knees
an allowance
bare roots and lost leaves
never forget
standing still like a tall tree

this is morning

I am not a poet
this is not a poem
do you understand me?

- Poet