The Ditch


Thunder breaks the stillness,

lightning blinds the eyes.

The rain goes on forever.

Water fills the ditch, deeper than a little girl.

Liquid mud slams sticks and branches

against concrete sides

hauling them in splinters under the street.

Plastic bags drown with sopping leaves,

empty cups bobble in protest

as water bites away their false Styrofoam strength.

Little hands blanch on the rail.

Little eyes gawp in stupor.

Solid sullen bubbles slop over the sidewalk

lapping at her toes

trying to dissolve another prey.



Easter Find


hiding in the grass

oval and smooth

could be a stone

purple-pink swirls

bumpy and slick

tastes like crayons

tap it on a rock

it crunches like potato chips

tiny cracks sneak in

crush it more

peel the bumpy slicky swirls away

there’s white underneath

mushes easily

yellow round middle

it’s an egg

pinky-purple swirls trashed in the grass

the stone was prettier

wish I could put it back together


© 2008 Libby Block

both poems originally published “Duck Soup: Vol. XXII”.  North Lake College: Irving, TX. Fall 2008

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