by Kevin T. McEneaney

Do you sometimes feel like a walking stick

with white eyes near-popping, legs awkward long

as you stride through woods on weekend walk

while sneakers ooze odiferous mud?


The azure sky appears to be wonder

of eternal grandeur astonishment

when sleek hawks and eagles hover above

in majestic loops over hills, mountains,

lakes where canoes navigate to their home

with spark-sleepy torpor of a campfire.


Becoming a walking stick is healthy,

wise, a journey out of one’s goofy self

to a memory that sustains your life

when you wish you were a brown walking stick….

walking stick
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