an invasion, of sorts

If you look at a map of Normandy,
You will see roads and channels – no valise.
It was a strange discomfiture to know;
Scant help would be forthcoming, few police,
Just one lone woman, who was sweet and kind.
    But she could never carry
    All that I had on my mind.

Pretend you stood beside a roadside inn,
And watched the passers-by. How is there space
And time enough to count the atrophied,
Or see the covert stories in each face?
A map, a woman, searching through my dread —-
    Without a clue to comfort, save
    That one lone white

    Bedspread

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant