This is my last post. Thank you so much for the opportunity, BAP. It was a million laughs. I'd be happy to come back and scrub all the f-bombs off the wall if need be.
Today's NaPoWriMo prompt: "Pick a color, any color. And now write a poem in which everything is that color (or, at least, that color predominates). Need an example? Try Walter de la Mare’s Silver, Diane Wakoski’s Blue Monday, or Federico Garcia Lorca’s Romance Sonambulo." Good luck, scribblers. You're a quarter of the way done. Onto the poems!
Brackish landscape
cut by a line of
fence posts, no fence—
foreign wood dotting sawgrass,
waterlogged and salt white.
Our kayaks drift
through salt marsh canals
half-guided by a breeze.
Your hat makes small shade
of sun bright as plastic boats.
Posted here.
*
Man of the House
He grew up in the city
so he mows our lawn like a blind goat.
The pickle jar may stay shut.
That wood table will not get stained
(unless he guffaws his coffee on it).
No, he does not know
what you’re talking about,
Mr. Plumber Man.
He cannot fix the things.
Unless I am one of the things.
Posted here.
*
Hook and Line
Being a poet
is being a fish
swimming the river
in search of a hook.
Posted here.
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