News Poetry: Three Bars of Summer 2018

Three Bars of Summer 2018

Karen Betstadt

Hard brown coating constrains
the running of cold white cream.
I study the brown rectangle.
choose a corner; bite.

Like a skater falling
through an iced lake,
the hardness breaks apart;
my hand catches melting chocolate pieces.

Oh- the ritual of an ice cream bar

Hard metal-like scaffolding,
baking in the sun.
I run towards it.

Carefully I grab the hot rounded iron
and perform skin the cat

on the monkey bars.

The days so hot, so dry,
I lick dust when I lick my lips.

We have walked so long; now stand longer.
So close, I take an extra gulp of water.

Large hands reach out, grab me, pull me away.
I scream, “Mama!”

I am in a cold hard room; we are all so scared.
We stare out

through these strange new bars.

Image credit: Christina Ramey, Creative Commons, Flickr
Karen Betstadt is vice-president of Foothills Columbine Poetry Society. The sun slowly slips behind dull grey light sealed clouds the rose blooms bright red



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