If Only it didn’t Get in the Way

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I came across a woman who kept tripping over her shadow.

If only it didn’t stand so close, she said, tripping over the shadow’s right foot.

She lifted herself from the ground and before she could hit full stride, the shadow tripped over her.

Fuck! It yelled. She keeps getting in the way.

It lay on the ground, grunting. I think I’ve twisted my ankle.

Here, let me help, I offered. The shadow was tall and spindly and so was relatively easy to pick up.

The sun went behind a cloud and briefly the two became one.

Then it came out again, and the pair went on their slapstick way, tripping and falling.

How they made it home was anyone’s guess.

 

 

 

Poem with a Great Last Line

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I have just written a poem.

I read it to my granddaughter.

“Hey! Great last line,” she says.

“But what about the rest of the poem?” I say.

“Great last line”

I go back to the poem.

Read it a few times.

It is a great last line.

So what I do is this: I jettison the rest of the poem and keep

the last line,

I read it a few times.

I read it to her.

She hesitates.

I read it again.

It seems to lack something,” she says.

So I put the poem back together like it was and read it to her.

“Great last line,” she says.

Single White Rolls

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You got to feel sorry for single white rolls.

Even in packs they can’t make a go of it.

Maybe they should take a good hard look

at themselves

consult relationship experts like couples

on Married …

or search for roll-mates on Tinder.

There must be someone out there.

If ‘Baked Fresh’ doesn’t confer any advantages

I don’t know what does.

Even when consumed they die alone.

It must be a lonely existence.

What’s Feet Got to do with it?

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Get yr feet off the table I was told.

Get yr feet off the pouf.

And I thought, what the ^%$#@ ?!?!

What does it even matter if I dangle my feet

from the chandeliers?

What’s feet got to do with it anyway?

But somehow they alwats march in.

I often start off on the wrong foot these days

Step on people’s dignity

Tread on their toes

Or worse put my foot in my mouth

A mean anatomical feat if ever there were one.

So now I keep my feet firmly on the ground

Close to each other

And far enough from my mouth as possible.

This seems to keep people happy.

 

A Bird Flew into My Mouth

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A bird flew in my mouth.

I gulped in horror.

If it were a mozzie,

A blowfly,

No worries

But a bird

A wattlebird at that.

It panicked in the echo chamber of my mouth.

I wrestled it with both hands

Trying to pry it loose.

Suddenly it plopped out like a fish.

It staggered in the air.

I staggered along the path.

A bird in the mouth is worth two in the bush.

My friend quipped.

So how was it? he asked.

Surreal, I clucked. Surreal

That Little Guy

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I don’t know how to take the mattress that’s been dumped in our driveway.

Admittedly it’s not as bad as the dead cat that was dumped in our rubbish bin.

But it’s harder to get rid of.

It’s an affront.

You eye yr neighbors suspiciously.

Suspect the crotchety old bloke across the road.

And then you do something nutty.

You drag it up the driveway and dump it on the street.

You don’t think. You react.

That little guy inside yr head.

Someone in the middle of the night drags it back.

So you ….

It’s like a tug-of-war.

So what’s yr next move?

One thing’s for certain.

Yr not going to take this lying down.

Mistrust

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 I’ve come to mistrust the little guy who lives inside my head. He used to be such a nice guy but over the years he’s become a little loopy, his thinking transgressive. Now I hardly know him. He’s a loose cannon, an IED waiting to be stepped on. Look, I say, let’s be reasonable. You can’t say that! And you definitely can’t do that! You want to end up in prison with me? Sometimes I give him drugs to quieten him, talk him down, try to get him to see reason. I love the little guy. I just wish he was more like me.

 

do you find yourself warring with yourself sometimes? how do you resolve differences? is there such a thing as a fully unified being?