this too shall pass.

their words are deficient, quickly undressed
filling green bottles with semantics
they tidy the room, sighing with triviality

the sky outside is sagging impending fall
as they throw stones, pressing on
they wear the cold armor of disquiet

impetus is an unsympathetic revolver
as scrutiny merges with notarized papers
they ignore heavy steps behind the front door



© august 2011 heather brager