So here we are.
Today’s Horribly Local Poor Poetry Month (HoLoPoPoMo) entry:
the lobster
to the lobster in the tank
who is trying to get free
you are just beyond my glance
but i crane my neck to see
i am watching you climb up
on the backs of all your friends
and i don’t know what you think
how you hope this effort ends
all at once i feel a chill
and i don’t know what to do
am i also in a trap
is my battle futile too
then again, i realize that
unlike fish awaiting fate
i at least can sit and eat
this spaghetti on my plate
The end.
By the way, this one is a true story... right down to the spaghetti.
Yes indeed. Welcome to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment