Strawberry Fields

by davidchrzanowski

Poem number 3 from Blueprints to Blunderland, titled Strawberry Fields. Poem number 4 will be coming on Sunday.

You carry around an invisible twin,
as your mind scatters
like a daffodil on the wind.
Talking to locked toilet cubicles
at abandoned train stations –
another panic sets in.

Arm in arm through
strawberry fields,

Summer’s fire burns
for months,

never does moon or star
stir or make a presence.

Silence is broken by the
scolding shrieks; cries
of rape, eventually
proven untrue; another
reputation bubbling like
burning skin,
the scent still hanging
well into October’s dying breath.