Sand Blast

Eludes the sandscape of a colored mind,

Molded by a wind of habit, throw sandy squalls

In my face,

Pinning down a polish,

Faded since a child used these eyes.

Brushes held by another's hand
Massage, grate, distinguish, enhance
my nervously smiling tattered canvas.
An eavesdropped whisper to her mother
And a walk to the kitchen for hot tea;

A candy impression
Save some for me.

T. J. M. 91