Poetry / Crawfish
I was allowed to play in the stream below the cow pasture across the street from my house everyday after school in the spring until the street lights came on; but, I could see the light on the corner of the street from the crest of the hill above my stream; so, I’d run between the bank and the crest every so often to see whether I was in trouble yet; but, I’d always stay longer than I was supposed to and turn over the rocks in the water until the light was too dim to expose the tiny crawfish swimming through the narrow cool water of the creek which flowed from some place north, I supposed, and trickled down the map like it was obeying the gravitational pull toward the south, toward the bottom of the map, across pink and purple and green and yellow states, and pool south and downhill from the corner light.
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Great sentence. However, isn’t “prose poem” a contradiction of terms? This seems lacking of a necessary investment of emotional substance, imagery, or some other meaningful construct. As is, it just seems empty.
- A_P
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