It was the Last of the Lucid Years

A litter of bent nails rusted on the bottom of my mind.
They were part of the self-implosion rubble.

My mid-life identity crisis bicycled me coast to coast.
I whimpered at the idea of returning to work.

If you are over twenty-one and your parents die
you are not counted as an orphan.

I barked a lot and chased cars.
I designed my own flag and declared my own country.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney