Men and Bread
by Nicola Sparks-Jones
Rain,
brown leaves.
Smell the rotting garbage?
Dust swirls,
a distant star shines.
I hear laughter,
a siren,
a car speeding away
from a stone thrown in anger.
Cricket climbing on damp wood,
as lightning kisses the autumn sky.
Kittens and puppies
sleeping among the leaves
and pine needles.
Cool hands carry the funeral bread.
Icicles form on the patient crow.
The horse snorts.
The white dog growls,
still searching puddles
along the ruins.
Smoke swirls and curls
into the clouds.
The angry elk’s nostrils flare
as sand scratches his cornea
raw like meat and blood.
Screeching jays circle above the playground
as the child smiles.
The mother smokes
a cigarette,
a dirty-faced baby
on her hip.
Shoulders slouch
as she contemplates a life
that could have been
if she had
been less sentimental
with her men
and stayed home with her
mother to
make the funeral
bread instead.
About The Author
Raised in poverty in an oppressive religious household in Oklahoma, Nicola was taught that a woman’s purpose in life was to serve her God and husband. She took refuge in books, reading voraciously for escape and entertainment. Today she enjoys writing and poetry classes at the Community College of Denver.
paintedcave 
Very awesome!! What a great writer you have always been!!