Curing Boredom
I have this friend, a regular
gallivanter who frequents thrift stores.
He was always searching
with compass and intuition.
He had a North Star
for a heart, a beacon
I can follow on dark,
dull nights, when boredom
and redundancy permeate
the air like a warm mist.
When that mist comes
to rest, like Sandburg’s cat,
rubbing up against my legs
tangling my limbs in melancholy,
he comes like a swift breeze,
blowing away the fog
with a thrift store, ten-dollar trash can
and a little league baseball bat.
With a sly smile and firm
swing, metal reverberates
in the air and my skin
dances a merry foxtrot.
My hand grips the grainy
wood, I swing hard,
laughing in the clear night air.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
