UnfinishedI pressed the bare skin of my legs against the cool concrete of the rooftop garden as I laid down, shading my eyes and looking toward the ledge. There was no one else up here with me, but Alex would be arriving home from his fathers sometime within the next few minutes. I closed my eyes briefly before moving my gaze upward to the blue tarpaulin above my head, my eyes readjusting to the shade.
The rooftop garden wasn't a garden as such, at least it hadn't been originally intended that way. On afternoons like this the makeshift tarpaulin shade was the only refuge from the heat, the huge glass windows of my apartment along with the plastic siding only served to let in as much heat as possible during the summer. The apartment building had been aptly named, not without a sense of irony. I can only hope that the architect had never intended for The Glasshouse to be, well, like an actual glasshouse when hit with the full force of a British summer sun. It was an ugly building and stood out aga
Upon the BattlefieldsI came across a battle scene.
A child wearing a tricorne,
brandishing a black umbrella
his screaming face contorted with rage.
His smaller sibling wielding an unnamed vegetable,
wearing a red cape that caught the wind behind him as he ran
each footstep hitting the hot concrete
sending him further from his wronged enemy.
I wonder if I'm stoned.
But upon remembering myself,
those years are long past,
one of my hands holds a basket of this weeks groceries,
the other pushes a stroller.