Primrose Chairs 12/07/25

Follow

Chase blue through black trees,

white ghosts dance and glow.

A park stands between us.

Wheels thumping,

heart moving.

Chasing a banshee's yowl,

seeing it flee its own shadow,

as passing ghosts call questions.

We stop for none but the ferryman.

Blue runs red,

horns blare,

yellow screeches on the turn.

Pedals down,

I chase the ambulance towards home,

and an unmet future.