Tag: Pumpkin Latte

• Get Away

  

  Spring rolled through like bruised apples; the house still smells like Winter. Somewhere is a missed opportunity. Summer is turning into hot pumpkin lattes. No one gives a cent because someone is hoarding coins—yadda, yadda, yadda, dum-dum diddy. We lost our getaway, our annual moment of jubilee.

  David W. Jones

  August 10, 2020

  Creative Writing

  Autumn, Equinox, Poem, Poetic, poetry, Pumpkin Latte, solstice, Spring, Summer, Thoughts, Winter