Cara
by James Keane
You stride
through the early morning
terminal
crowding and last night’s human
stench
with a soldier’s rigid purpose
and a dancer’s sudden grace.
But still, no matter how stern
you always look to march
and weave you through this soul-
forsaken place, your blue eyes are
humming, ever hovering to
sparkle
and brighten your ivory face.
Cara,
can you feel the warmth of the glow
in your eternally sunlit hair?
It’s nice to think that this could be so
Wherever you go
at your soldier’s pace
Whatever you do
with your dancer’s grace.
Submit your poetry here!
