Hamsa

 

poem

My hair has grown like weeds overtaking a garden Expanding outward like moss Strands of hair constantly falling out, like leaves  Stubble like pollen Summer hair Summer overgrowth

poem - work

Work, work, work

The metal clangs, the sawblade cuts

Sawdust flies, iron rings

The work goes on, through the pandemic

We are brooms of the sorcerer’s apprentice, 

Working though our purpose is gone

The outside world has receded from view

We are all marching blindfolded into the future

March, march, march