George Freek

Disintegration

My wife is no longer alive, 
and things that once mattered
are less than a thimbleful of rice.
Clouds roll over my head
like boulders made of lead.
In the rain-soaked street, 
I look at people rushing by, 
terribly upset, 
by the mud on their feet.

George Freek’s poetry has appeared in numerous journals and reviews.