Five-minute Poem 6.2016

There’s a breeze in the air

and big flowering bushes are taking over the sidewalks

much to everyone’s glee,

as they peruse the outdoor menus and those windows-full of over priced, raw cotton caftans.


Normal June, plain-old-tourist town. Nothing has changed as the season rolls in.


The world is churned-out, wobbling on its axis. We’re dizzied by death and think pieces.


But the breeze in the Berkshires still blows.