LAYERS OF BROWN
I listen to public radio,
a solemn Bach air I can't quite identify,
while I wait in line at the auto bank.
The cars around me form a muddy rainbow;
stodgy brown, funereal black, dull gray.
A buff-colored moth, almost invisible,
bumps into the drive-through's beige brick wall.
Parched weeds line the asphalt in prickly clumps
like hair sprouting from an old man's ears,
while the teller's polished window
contributes blurry images of sepia-leafed branches.
Weary and disconnected, I feel myself sinking.
Transaction complete, I grab my receipt and
speed down the shadowy umber tunnel of the alley.
Another day almost over, I head home.
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Comments: 34
In this line: 'Weak tea drops of light spatter the building,' the word 'the' throws your verse off rhythm. May I suggest you omit the word the and add the word wall after building?
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