You were at the park, two in the afternoon
sitting under Midas’ tree
when he shook the King’s neck
and made yellow rain around you
You laughed once and said stop
I’m trying to read
but he kept shaking
so your finger went in the air, warning him not to
Remember that game
when we were young and leaves were gold
arms to the sky, we caught them all
to build our make-believe thrones?
They say you lost touch
when you travelled through time
leaves are just leaves
sitting here, all you’ve outgrown
by Charlene Kwiatkowski
textingthecity 