by Arlene Antoinette
Part One-Nothing a Cup of Hot Tea Won’t Cure
It’s not that I’m tired of life; it’s life that has become tired of me. I sit by my window and watch the little ones playing outside running, jumping, screaming, and tearing up my flower-beds with no apologies. The road has become their park, my driveway their gymnasium and my lawn their resting place. I watch them and wonder what my newly laid grass thinks as it is now a comfy day-bed for the under 12 crowd. I look on with pure jealousy and question when that kind of energy seeped out of my bones, hastened through my veins and dissipated from my skin. When did I become this old shadow of a person who begrudges little ones their play, their happiness, their youth? A ball is thrown, and my garage door has become a backboard for flying objects. I sigh, then chuckle. My jealousy diminishes. I make myself a cup of tea and return to my seat by the window. I close my eyes, breathe in the aroma of peppermint and day-dream of my younger days.
About the author
Arlene Antoinette is a writer who enjoys dabbling in poetry, flash fiction and song lyrics. Additional poetry by Arlene Antoinette may be found @ Foxglove Journal, Cagibi Lit, Better Than Starbucks, Mojave Heart Review, With Painted Words, London Grip, Literary Heist and Your Daily Poem.