Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Riding a bike in the exhaust of cars On streets black-tarred where trees once bravely stood And climbing a hill. We couldn’t go on So flung our two-wheeled steed on grass While car-fumes passed like dragon-gas From wars in days of yore. Cucumber sandwiches for tea but they Belong to times long-gone as well And who could tell? We had French bread A long wide loaf and shared the green Cucumber passed from hand to hand While drivers wouldn’t understand But we were exhausted Riding a bike Two saddles two wheels two riders and Two trees to wave us on. The final ReadWritePoem prompt is whatever we want it to be, so I'm posting one of my poems from the PoeticAsides challenge, where the prompt was "exhausted."

Water rippled over moss-covered stones, lending life to trailing fronds. Water under the bridge, David thought - water that washes and cleans - while the moon hung round and glowing above the tree tops, gazing down on him. But stones were the gutter beside the road. Fronds were newspaper scraps with messages fading and forlorn. And treetops were a line cut low, unable to hide the bitter sodium lamps that blinded stars, anchoring apartment-block walls like cold prison bars. He accosted her in the stairwell. “Emily?” And she smiled, because even the city knows life and trailing fronds of sweetly awakened love.