|Jul/Aug 2014 Poetry|
Image credit: Darryl Leja, NHGRI, Digital Media Database, www.genome.gov
Hope is the hardest love we carry
It's a five-gallon bucket of six-penny nails,
left out in the weather to fill up with rain
and rust 'til you wonder, "Just what in the hell?
It's a five-gallon bucket of six-penny nails?"
Another worthless red weight, an all-else that fails,
another shove in your back in front of the train,
it's a five-gallon bucket of six-penny nails.
Left out in the weather, it fills up with rain.