A flagpole on a schoolyard in summer
stands up useless and lonely.
It flies no colors.
It stands for nothing.
It communicates its isolation
in random pings of dismal sonar;
the metal clasp at the end of the cord
grasping at nothing,
strikes the base of the staff.
It goes unnoticed
by nearby telephone poles,
standing together at safe intervals,
connected by lines of communication
filled with meaning and purpose.
1 comment:
This is lovely. I thought you had abandoned this place for the dark side. I'm glad to see I was wrong.
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