Home > write365. > Day 13: freewriting in poetry class.

Day 13: freewriting in poetry class.

The second day of my semester’s poetry class, we had to freewrite something for ten minutes or so. I had an idea I loved, but ten minutes isnt enough time to craft anything acceptable. That said, I’ll post what I have here now. On Monday a final revision is due, and with hope it’ll be altered tremendously—I plan on it being funny, detailed, with a fine sense of character. As it is now, it’s terrible. But hey. That isnt wrong.


The old man had been twice passing by
in Segovia, in Córdoba, long khaki pants
walking hipshot in the sandpaper heat,

where the roman aqueducts carried neither
water nor anything else. He sat under its dry
shadow, eyes shut, his white hair falling away

from a burned scalp, and in repose he looked
to be praying, this soft man funneling energy
to the dead gods, to Priapus, the sentry of his

dick, who would stand him up should he collapse
in ruin, like the cool moorish arches to the south
of Spain. He kneeled

from the bench, arthritic genuflection, and
leaned forward, his gnarled spine in flat
alignment, so sure his prayer had been heard,

no hands, arms flung to the side like a secret
savior of the nuptial bed, and fell to his face
in the ancient dust of a disappointed city.

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