Lucy sits, waiting patiently
in a park, drinking water,
watching children swing effortlessly.
Persistent and tired of the turmoil,
Paul finishes carving a piece of wood,
that looked like a fish to begin with,
into Botticelli's Birth of Venus.
Restful and invigorated by the universe,
Rebecca lays next to her fourth love,
her hair greying, her heart swooning,
her breasts, her breaths.
Hunkered and weary of failure,
Harold plants petunias in his garden,
whistling a monotonous tune,
daydreaming of monkeys in the zoo.
Interested and hopeful for the future,
I write about people I have never met,
listening to popular indie music,
fingertips searching for the next word.
This work by Scott Stewart is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.
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