How Did We Get Here?

full moon, low hung...
bare branches brush
darkness wet skies.
listening, listening,
to the tin roof
rusting with the dew,
to the bricks groaning
and chipping with time,
to the brown grasses weeping
for a new start...

old cars that wont crank,
window screens duct taped.
the lie on the stove
smells like long ago supper,
the mail on the table unopened.
and the light in the bedroom
flickers, almost done.
who are we?
and how did we get here?

somewhere far off a baby cries,
a dog barks, a screen door slams.
here there is nothing left,
but the smell of old shoes,
and cardboard boxes no one dares
to look into!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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