All rights reserved-Chris Hancock

The traffic is so far away,
That it sounds like waves at high tide,
An occasional roar,
Then nothing for a while.
A large cloud is overhead
Providing a little break
From the 5:39 glare.

I’m dripping having just pulled
My gym teacher tan of a body
Out of the cool tonic
Simply known as, The Quarry.
Only a few families are here,
The famous log is moored to its spot
Allowing nothingness take over
The way it’s supposed to.
The energy here is restorative
Like a cold beer on a scorching day
Or heavy blankets on a frigid night.

Shhh…