The last tour group this season

By Keko Prijatelj

Someone spilt seeds over the tiles
Now we can’t walk barefoot

That’s it, there’s no story dear readers
The story is in the seeds
We put on our boots and crush them
Yes, we crush the tiles into debris
And the field is receptive

Four imposing statues erect
They should have a name
But we forgot as they
Are blocking our Sun and we call them
Winter Morning
The one who throws the ice bolt
Summer Evening
The one who casts implosion
Autumn Morning
The one who makes quicksand
Spring Evening
Bewitches into berserk
Oh you’re still here

Enchanted and enraged we look at you
But subtly
Causing only discomfort
As we sit and stare

Keko Prijatelj is a writer from Croatia. His work has been published in Expat, jmww, Maudlin House, Misery Tourism, and elsewhere. Keko is currently majoring in linguistics and phonetics, he has a bachelor’s degree in film & TV directing, and he occasionally directs plays.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *