Hopping in Puddles

For this prompt.

The street before us

Filled itself with puddles

Cracks in the cries of the sky

Left unconsoled,



By the earth trapped beneath

The cracking street

The concrete was no protection

From the fractures and pits

That filled itself with puddles

That refused to be forgotten.


Not waiting for a tricycle

I hop across these patches

A calculated rhythm

Too delicate for my walk-worn shoes


I look underneath me,

A fleeting face of a dull wispy sky,

To be broken and trampled

By the haste of my walk-worn shoes.

No, I cannot console you,

I have a ride to catch.

Work to do.

Kids to feed.

Lover to caress and love.

And all that was left of the puddles

Of myriad fleeting faces

Were swept by the broom

Of another day.


3 thoughts on “Hopping in Puddles

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