The stone of my ambition
was chipped away
and weathered
until it looked like sand.
You find me on the beach
in a lounge chair
with a sci-fi book
under umbrella shade.
While we converse
you check phone notifications
seven times
and take a call.
While you look away from me
and into the screen
I returned to space criminals
trying to pull a digital bank heist.
You return to me looking upset
and state you must go
rescue a bald eagle
with a broken wing.
The memory of flying eagles
circles above my head
and I know when it dives for its prey
I will duck worried its me.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 