Cream Soda on My Pinata

May 29, 1999

Ask me again tomorrow when the blinding sun is shadowed behind a much needed forest of rain. Muggy air strangles a weak lung that has grown tired of pollution. Swallow the moon whole for he looks to the side leaving an unattended eye. Tonight the swamp is alive using my backyard as a stage. Ten long years offer more than memories for in my rear-view-mirror this could be home sweet home. A yellow tint from the camp fire continues to burn, smoldering smoke through another scorching summer that has predicted a shortage of rain.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist