city is
hard-wired to noise-
music, car tires spitting
between streetlights-
most trees are half-dressed
in orange pleats with rust-brown twigs
i listen
to last kick of leaves
hitting rain-puddled steps-
it echoes
along with
guitar's strings of busker, filling
our cups
of solitude
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille, hosted by De Jackson ~ This is a 44 word post with the word KICK. Join us when the pub door opens by 3 pm EST.
