I am eleven.
My father snaps the latch
of the trailer closed.
Six pairs of shoes
clomp down the stairs.
My mother pulls the key
out of the door for the last time.
We all take one last
look around.
The tall majestic mountains,
the trees fading
orange, red, yellow.
The mid-morning sunlight
shining brightly down.
The last car door
slams shut.
The blue Ford truck
pulling trailer behind.
Pulling out of the driveway
for the last time.
-
Author:
deepthoughts (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 5th, 2018 17:47
- Comment from author about the poem: In the comments, tell me what you think I'm talking about/describing.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 35
Offline)
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