You’d think
Words
Would like me.
I set them free.
My mind sweet-whispers.
Free to fly.
Instead,
They flop-plop-drop
On-to the page.
Like over-thick batter.
Dead fish.
Or J-E-L-L-o
Rhyme for me.
I plea,
Sublimely.
“Not for a trillion;
“Not for a billion;
“Not for ver-milion!”
See what I mean!
Sarcasm. Disdain.
Scorn.
Words
On a page,
They mock me:
“Hey you!”
Who?
“You at the keyboard.”
Me?
“Yeah, you.”
What?
Keep your
Smudgy-pudgy finger-tips
Off my pristine, clean keys . . .
So I did.
