An exhausted afternoon sun strikes lethargy
In a stifling thick air of the summer cottage
A tired fan groans as it makes yet another
Circle midair in the dense heat.
Fumes rise from the bottle of need
Putrid, rancid, and plain old strange
My head dances a tribal ritual,
A porridge of unrest, tears and obituaries
An escape atop wings to a cool paradise
I raise my glass and down the bitter drink.
The imagery is amazing! Love the creative use of all the words 🙂
<3 Thank you @aisha154
I love that you used porridge as a non-food word. Excellent imagery! I like the phrase “plain old strange” a lot. Underselling it, store-bought strangeness.
Thank you so much! Much appreciate your comment.
Brilliant use of ‘porridge’! I love that line!