like a trick knee.
I read the prompts again,
muttering similes,
flat, uninspired,
lobotomized.
Five hundred dollars,
not including the room shared
with a woman who rises
at four a.m. and demands
silence at eight p.m.,
who sighs like a mattress
being whacked.
Two hundred miles in a bus
that stops every fourteen miles,
where yet another man
whose Right Guard ran out
along with his last wife,
embarks, guttering off the seats
like a badly thrown bowling ball.
The shaggy poet, one of the few
who actually files tax returns,
strews prompts like the pope
bestows blessings, while my brain
freezes up like a fifties Amana
on a humid day.
Note: today's prompt was to use a line of another poet's work to start a poem of your own. Eleven specific lines were provided, and the above poem may give you some idea of my reaction to them, not one of which appear above.
2 comments:
i thought it was great to say the least imaginative... being on a bus for two days i had to laugh to myself recalling those who sat near... poem..
Lee, your brain is weird. I would be proud if I were you.
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