Grimbeau

Scroodles

The Pushchair

Grimbeau

sillhouetees

By candle.

Mind’s eye flix…instead I stalk

awkward, push his wheelchair, crossing,

three-point-turning,

tricornering, crossing back,

leant on bedstead,

with free limb, revolve said chair, repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Sit and sweat and look

and realize why he smells off.

The do it again.

And again. Again.

Waiting for…forgot.

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Flighty Aphrodite

gruvet

 

Letters found under a Sea Shell,
perhaps — cockle, hermit, conch,
periwinkle…lists of ships nefarious
Whose that over reacting  there?
Iffy light bulbs wax & wane
Mistook Ajax for Johnson’s Baby
No bloody wonder is it?
Are we not merely the Star’s Tennis Balls?
No we are the playthings of the Gods
All ends up at the heel of the hunt
Yes, suppose it does
How we tittered!

 

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