One Says We

And wakes to a world of future
enophiles in utero

wishing to conjure
the pony and pomelo

at once. One sings we
in a time of chastised dreams

and militia checkpoints as the wind
licks the grapefruit, never

tasting its inner flower.
Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.