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It is said, several slackers make the grade
They have prospects patented, I should say with capital
“P.” They have 14 streets cordoned off
just so they can have their babies. And then
three years from now, there will be strollers everywere, great
traffic jams of them; octopuses.
They’ll take two tea bags with their pleasure
and ask for more.
For me,
no more sugar.
For me,
down in the hole.
For me,
on a footbridge somewhere. Send in the mongoose, bring out the goons.
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I kept from writing poems last year because it was too easy; I was writing anyway. This year, I’m not writing, so this project gives me the opportunity to get back into it.
This week’s theme: Poems (for now)
Fourteen-thousand people and yet not enough slacks
Tasting days dripping salt, most of them
shining, and when I look backward
I see my miniscus is rounding:
pleased to be of service, but to be honest,
a little antsy in the pantsy. So I descend
the stairs and go for a jaunt. My hidden agenda,
of course, is to sweep for mines.
I wonder if their coffee is burnt. I wonder if they
let dogs in. Let them order at the bar. Do they
have a shih-tzu section.
Fourteen-thousand people and yet not enough rats.
You think you’d find at least one tattered tail,
one pin the tale on the donkeyer. But, alas,
and drat, we’ve got sandwiches to eat, and so much potato salad
before we drift off to sleep.
I pick up the pace when I realize
I may not get this right. I may not
knit a scarf built for too. My wool
may just run out… and then what?
Introduce the sheep to my priest
and go hiking.