Walking on a street filled with
lonely people looking downward.
No smiles to be found.
Store window displays staring
back with vacant eyes, like so
many lost souls looking
for a place to belong.
Days racing by like a speeding
train, only stopping long enough
to discharge passengers. Each hour
barely perceptible as they fly by.
Wine drenched memories. Fingernails
digging into flesh. Hair pulled out in
handfuls. The hot breath of doubt
breathing down my neck.
A smile across the face of fear.
At ninety-five miles an hour racing
towards the sun, no one saw it coming,
as the sky opened up to swallow
those left behind.
Unreality has become real, walking
on a street filled with lonely people looking
downward. No smiles to be found.
Ann Christine Tabaka lives in Delaware. She is a published poet and artist. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Metaworker, Raven Cage Ezine, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Longshot Island, Indiana Voice Journal, Halcyon Days Magazine, The Society of Classical Poets, and BSU’s Celestial Musings Anthology.