The Boogeymen ( The Strange Three )

poem, poems, poetry, writing

Walking down the concrete

At the witching hour’s peak.

Heavy with twilight.

The rain of the day

Has lifted and the air is warm.

Birds chirp with a circadian rhythm

Swirling regardless of lithium.

Alone, I meet eyes

With a lascivious lady.

Her happy friend pinches her elbow.

Whispering in her ear, with breath

As cool as the shadows

We cast in the streetlight glow.

 

The three of us focus

On the cars lining the street.

Gleaming like chunks of candy.

It’s so strange how strangers

Go bump in the night.

So strange.

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