if only Brenda could rewind her time three years

shuffling slowly down Agatha street quiet only pigeons coo

i follow the trail of baby feathers-pretending to be sane

just to keep an eye on her

it is reached the daily destination

one of the many resting places

along the coastal California lie

her heels cut dry bond with the pavement

lips crusted knees bent soul MIA

i pull the wool over my own eyes

turn and walk away from her again

8 thoughts on “Brenda

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