Abstract
I'm full and that's not obsolete
Wrought iron like thick licorice crochet
An occasional and personal curiosity
Like an emaciated swan
Feet were ready to fall off
Too sick to play in the playroom
Why, why, why
Do you know the odds of survival
The crinkled black man on TV
Opening the steeple of a fingered church
Loomas valued his privacy
Soaking in the sights and sounds
I never got to ride the carousel
Or listen to domicile music
So my slice of reality doesn't hold up
Like Michael Jackson after a nuclear bomb
(Artwork by Fisherwy)
2 comments:
Hi, Bobbi -- I'll include comments for three posts here as I am desperately trying to catch up. But your poem is wonderful -- and what a fabulous exercise. Golly, I long for the time (or is it the commitment?) to sit down and do that regularly.
Thanks for writing the words to the Grinch song -- and I loved reading the seven things. Those are fun!
that is an interesting exercise and you've done it well, I especially like the ending
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