Tessa, When The Morning Bus Came

In the soft darkness
we’re rehearsing. Instinctive,
dealing with this ragged
thing, foreign, and intimate
as cave paintings.

We’d twitched, and swished,
and in the greenish yellow light
walked around dazed,
jammed into rock,
long-suffering.

The frogs’ swampy song
conspiratorial and lewd.
When the morning bus came,
all that seemed superfluous
succumbed to sun.

Prompt:

Day 23

“Take the phrase “When (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write the poem. Possible titles include: “When in Rome,” “When Doves Cry,” “When You Can’t Say When,” “Whenever You Want,” etc.”

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