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Haunted Woods

This is the tale of young Polkahontus. She lives in the forest; her aim is to taunt us. The squeezebox is ancient; it’s lacquered and red; she communes with the spirits and plays for the dead. She gives the accordion a little squeeze; the raspy sound out of it’s more like a wheeze. She dances and prances and plays in the wood; I’d drop a tree on her if I only could. At dusk she gets started down there in the vale; I’ve fingered my crossbow with thoughts to impale. In the rain, in the snow, even bitter and cold, she’s playing that polka; Good Lord, it gets old. I’m at my wit’s end, so I get down the rifle with murderous thoughts of a squeezebox to stifle. I aim through my scope with the polka red dot, but I won’t pull the trigger, ‘cuz that polka girl’s hot!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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Date: 10/27/2024 8:56:00 PM
you aimed right! congratulations on your win dear poet. cheers.
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Date: 10/27/2024 8:10:00 AM
Jeff, a great poem with a cute ending, congratulations on your winning placement.
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Kyser Avatar
Jeff Kyser
Date: 10/27/2024 9:01:00 AM
Thanks for hosting the contest, Tania!
Date: 10/26/2024 7:11:00 PM
Great write! Protagonist haunted by beauty and murderous thoughts.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things