Once
it was only pebbles
glancing off
covered shins.
Barely a notice.
Now it’s
rocks thrown
at other voices
prickling with
the redress of vague
fears.
They squeak just
out of sight
hacking eschatological
phlegm
onto anything gasping
for clarity.
R. James Sennett Jr. lives, works, breathes and chases his muse in Louisville, Kentucky. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications for which he is grateful.