Hardboiled are the Coldest of Mornings, poetry by Christian Ward at Spillwords.com

Hardboiled are the Coldest of Mornings

 Hardboiled are the Coldest of Mornings

written by: Christian Ward

 

The cold is a hard-boiled
detective uncertain of its case.
Look how it stalks a magpie
dolled up like a femme fatale,
convinced it holds some clue.
Wildflowers rub themselves
against it, keen to distract
from the dandelion haired
mobster with a motive. The fox
who might’ve been a key
eyewitness is gone through
a fence as leaky as the morning.
Still, there’s always the bourbon
shaded birds to question,
poppies asking for a password
to their speakeasy, whatever
might stoke away the autumnal blues.

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