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I’m no poet
apparently
and I do know it;
even my shoe size fails me
(I’m a six).
I entered the hallowed halls
filled with promise
and anticipation.
The kings and queens before me,
they did not disappoint.
It was I who fell short,
inadequacy my trademark.
Bluster, my ill-fitting coat of arms.
Humbled and chastised,
my trailing tail coiled between
the two legs I did not even
have to stand on,
I’ve chosen to retreat.
Perhaps one day
I’ll fight again.

By |

Molly & me in the hayloft
on a warm day in June,
peering through gaps
in the floorboards.
The Brown Swiss below us, oblivious:
What did they care of sisterly shenanigans?
We chewed on black jelly beans
and thought we were hilarious
as we spat our licorice mastications
onto their unwitting backsides.
We were so easily amused.
No technology was involved
in our heifer harassments.

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Actions (inactions, too)
Yield consequences
Don’t you tire (yet) of having to pay
The price for non-sound judgments?
Saying nothing
Letting you make your own choices
With continued dour results:
Bone-wearying.
Futures depend on thinking
And doing right
Wild, tangential arrows
Target excitement and thrills
Stable foundations, not so much.
Oh, but what do I know?