Abomination
Is her imagination not
a curse but a boon?
Some think her belfry’s been infested by a bat,
when she sits each night and writes ‘neath the moon.
She is a dreamer and realists rule the nation,
so at dawn she writes and tosses poems in a bin.
Hundreds of poems fill the rusty tin,
and she knows they must weigh a ton.
In her backyard, she sits on a mat,
still writing every day at noon.
Chestnut hair and a striking tan,
her writing keeps her from meeting a man.
* Entry for Catie’s “Word Games” Contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment