Tip The Writer

Keegan Roembke

A bore

A strike of thunder shakes the house
I lay untouched and without feeling
Rain pours down the windowsill
I do not look, fixing on the ceiling

That faded gazebo sans purpose
Shelters somewhat from coming rain

It is a weak, fragile soul
It is a shelter with no seating

It does not do more than trees
Against the pouring rain
Around my hand swarm the bees
I shew them from my sleeve

What are we hiding?
We do not know
Just that we must hide

Is it more than nature’s pour?
Is the gazebo free of cracks
To keep out a life that bores?