Friday, April 18, 2014

April is National Poetry Month, Day 18


I’m beginning to hate bluebonnets.
What is the fascination?
Brake lights,
traffic halts jarringly.
What is it?
A bluebonnet field.

Cars litter the side of the road,
otherwise sane people
planted in grassy fields
of bluebonnets and who-knows-what else.

There’s a picture of the whole family together,
then one of each of us alone
squatted and squinting against the sun
surrounded by billowing feathery green grass weeds.

Take the damn picture already! she’d said, smiling.
At least we still have the picture.
The bluebonnets are gone.
So is she.

Sue Bartel Foster

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