Ode to Gatsby


The heat beats
and beats
on my brain
like gravel dumped
in a pothole
crushing any
I envision
for the day

A victim of the
southern elements
of summer
I can only consider
what is necessary

I lie listless and still
waiting for life to
struggle through the
humid air of the season
and give me
sustenance to continue

About justbrinkley

poetry, flash fiction, prompts from a southern granny who should have been a writer.
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