Because what you hear as the sound of children playing is just the calls of seabirds. A home resurrected after drought and lowered waters is still a relic. Romanticism was a power of light until Sara intruded with her orthodox diss. Beauty in loneliness can be self-indulgent. As Monroe purred, a career is wonderful, but you can’t curl up with it on a cold night. I think Curley’s wife too knew a dress and sunlight was never enough. Sustenance groomed is still potatoes. Has anyone mentioned the folly of this?
Mike Ferguson is an American permanently resident in the UK and widely published online. His most recent poetry collection is Professions (The Red Ceilings Press). A collection of his found prose poems is forthcoming with Knives, Forks and Spoons Press.
Eunoia Review 
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