Share this:

Cave

Call in sick today.

I need you to come with me
out to the waterfalls near
the county line.

Tell your boss
the accounting reports
can wait: there is green moss
that needs to be between your toes
and a hundred thousand gallons
of water crashing
over a limestone lip
into a ice-cold basin
calling your name.

In fact,
tell Human Resources
they may want to go ahead
and start processing your resignation:

I’ve found an old Indian hunting cave
hidden behind the cascades,
and there are too many flint arrow heads
for me to pick through on my own.

Way in the back,
the only thing you can hear
is the water crashing down
and the sound of your own
body breathing.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Your support makes poetry like this possible. Become a Patron today and unlock exclusive Patron-only poetry and other perks!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*