tick. tick.

there’s a sprinkler running

in the yard, across the street

can you hear its tick tick tick tick

tick tick, swish—

odd because it’s pouring rain today


we’re taught

not to look, not to question, not to stare,

but their lawn isn’t even green—

it’s dead like me

tick tick, tick tick, tick tick . . . swish


the sun will set

and then will rise

though all the light has left my eyes

tick tick. tick tick. tick tick.


survival isn’t always living
but there are days when it is life.
© Grace Black


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