8.3

he should have

cried

but he refused

smiling away the pain

that threatened to leap

out with his tears

those salty streams

that wound across your cheeks

and flatten the heart

8.3, they said

just a number, perhaps

(when the earth shook, violently)

he laughed

at the golden wreck

he once called

home

scales measure the quake

but never the ache

This Poem is shared with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.