The sun removes the color from the backs of plants,
Peels a layer of chlorophyll skin
And leaves them lighter.
Sun is a solo performer on the stage of greens.
His ego weighs
Heavier than wet wool.
The wooly sheep are also game
In his light, they are whiter than white
perhaps because they are already a memory
of white (as that poet who was discontent
in the present said). A soft,
cushioned cottony dream.
And then the spray of hot color,
Like graffiti by chased children,
On their blank backs
Makes you believe that their fat bodies
Are already bleeding.
They chew grass on the road as they bleed.
They ignore the slash of buses
As they bleed.
One day they will stop the bleating
and they will have to stop the eating
Everything will stop.
But until then,
Perfume the salty air with warm
Guttural smell of dung.
The earth goes in
The earth comes out.
Sun fades in
Peels the covers evenly
Lights our little drama
A native of New Jersey, Maria now resides in Athens, Greece where she runs a small business. She a is a private writer and a public dancer. She is happy to be here.