Poetry / Border Crossing
In Medyka’s white
dust we trundle down
the causeway between
discarded cigarette boxes
and broken glass
The concrete apparition
of the border post
rises wraithlike
and aloof
We stand in line
Such a line!
The abraded features
of the babuszki under
their head scarves
split in gold toothed
grins
as they stuff cigarettes
into their socks
We become graffiti
snaking lines
of disorder
on the disordered
concrete path
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This was somewhat hard to follow, and not sure I understood the message you are trying to express. I apologize, but I think it needs a little more work.
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I thought you had great imagery in this poem. I liked it very much. I actually could see the worn, tired men and women with deep wrinkles in their faces going through a type of turnstile. As if they were sheep being driven by some young man, as you say “aloof” in a mind not even paying any real attention to any one specifically. Thank you for allowing me to read your poem. It was a pleasure! God bless…Della
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