Crisp (an acrostic poem)

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Cider so hard you need a hammer and chisel to drink it

Resulting in puckered lips that would make an Instagram influencer jealous

It leaves an impression on the consumer’s soul

Searing the memory of that tree, that branch, that fruit, that moment

Permanently into your psyche

Overgrown (an acrostic poem)

Overrun with emotions of ineptitude and incompetence

Vines of insecurity choked off what little emotional growth there was

Everything she wanted to do just seemed so hard to even start

Really it was just easier to sit there on her phone

Going from post to post on Instagram excessively and living vicariously

Reaching to hit the heart button but not meaning it

Outside she appeared so normal

When inside she hadn’t seen the sun in so long

Now the ever-present shade just felt right.

 

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Blame It On the Train

The train called in the distance, and Thomas’ soul heard that cry.  Thomas wished he had brought his wooden train whistle, but he had left it at home since he was worried about how the cold would affect the reed inside the thing.  The cold was one of the reasons he waited in his idling car just past the tracks themselves.

Thomas’ palms began to get sweaty.  The train whistle grew louder.  The railway crossing gates closed down, their red lights flashing back and forth.  Thomas got out of his car and looked up the tracks.  There was the train.  Thomas readied his phone and looked back at the train.  It was now or never.  He took off at a dead run.  He weaved his way past the first gate and stopped dead center on the tracks.  The train whistle went off as well as the sound of the brakes being applied, but there was no way that train was going to stop in time.  Thomas lifted his right hand, smiled and pressed the button.  The flash blinded him.  The screeching brakes reminded him he had mere moments.  Thomas jumped out of the way as the concussive force of the air being pushed out of the way by the train buffeted him.  It caused him to land awkwardly and tumble to the ground.

Thomas quickly regained his feet and hobbled to his car.  He put the car in drive and squealed the tires as he raced off.  Looking at his phone, Thomas saw the picture of his selfie in front of the train and smiled.  There was a picture of him cheating death.  Thomas would mount it on his wall, proving to himself that he could do anything and survive, but first he wanted to post it on Instagram.  A couple of button presses later and bam, he smashed into the tree where he had wandered off the road.  At least the picture uploaded first.  Thomas’ friends had a great picture for the calling hours.