Waving


The tree outside the window.
Sparse leaves:
yellowed, brittle and curling,
flutter
like the gloved hands
of a class of six year olds
waving to family,
as the teacher leads them into school.
One breaks free
sometimes,
but instead of blowing home
falls to the ground
with all the other dead dry children,
who twitch, occasionally
shuffling their shoes.

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9 thoughts on “Waving

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