Unwashed Windows (Poem)


unwashed windows

of a red pick-up, still

mud

smeared in flesh

of a child’s fingertips,

neighbor from an acre past

rolled his knuckles on

her metal and giggled

that truck, she

rode those roads —

every morning —

a new red

sun rolled

in clouds

from the rear view,

a farm rotted

in haze of raised

crops, yellow old

grain split in soil

a tape slid inside her,

static out a blues riff

clutch in bone

hollow guitar

as she rolled across

roads to work, a mile

away where migrants

picked flesh of ripe

in fields and said a

sad word when she

finally died, swollen

in her fumes, they

pushed her all the

way to a junkyard,

then slumped on the

mud

of a chain link fence,

lips dried open for

a glass of ice water,

a glass

moist inside their

hard-egg palms

#poem #poems #poetry #freeverse #creativewriting #poet #Bremeracosta

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