Flick the determined
grey beetle off the page
and its elliptical half
fortress trundles back again.
Fog billows over the spangled
banner in July like smoke,
like the Atlantic is of a mind
that’s hot and made up.
There’s a seagull ringed with seaweed red
white amid the restless blue.
A cold air snakes through millstones
that have chewed halfway below the yards;
likely never used, with mailboxes fixed red
on black iron. Above, a large white fist
breaks on a crumpled child’s kite in blue.
A lady says Paige, you never listen,
I’m gonna make you walk back!
The sand on the sidewalk frames small tracks.
If there were wind enough and flight,
where is there to go?
The fog is going unnoticed
everyone is going back.
Our Poem of the Week submissions are currently closed – a new call for submissions will open shortly. We are accepting submissions for our other regular features: MONOGRAPH (a group of poems by a single author) and New Voices (poets aged 18-30 who have yet to publish a full collection).