Bowling Green
Her basement was loaded with Native American
arrowheads, figurines, and other decrepit artifacts.
A row of dust-covered guns lined the back wall
next to an alarming amount of fossilized fish bones.
None of them, though,
were as captivating as her leathery brown face
that opened wide to expose her decaying teeth
as she scoured through timeworn encyclepedias of her history.
The next morning
she cooked me sweet-smelling pancakes,
the gooey chocolate chips melting into
the shape of a smiley face.
3 thoughts on "Bowling Green"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
So many commanding details!
This is a great poem, except you might want to use a word other than decrepit, which sounds like something that would be said by a lessor light than this alive voiced narrator. My compliments
I love this very specific mood. And I like the use of decrepit — it reminds me of visiting an old, neglected museum. Moth-eaten fabric, moldy hair on old dolls, layers of dust and grime… I can see that basement.