The Last Page Was Missing
Written: September 17, for a contest sponsored by: John Lawless
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I flipped the book with a steady hand,
chapters etched as runes into the sand.
The tale was tangled, the lead crowned,
beyond, silence fell, no closing to be found.
The final leaf had vanished, sly and fleet,
perhaps devoured by some voracious beet.
Or maybe scribes, with quizzacious delight,
slipped it away to prank the sleepless night.
I searched the margins, parsed each crabbed line,
for clues the author left in sly design.
A smudge, a doodle, statice pressed in place—
but no denouement, no triumphant grace.
So now I tell the tale with aplomb:
the villain married, bought a stately home.
The hero tripped, repined, then took a nap—
the dragon joined a choir, and learned to rap.
And if you ask what moral can be spun,
I’ll say: beware a most distant sun.
For endings hide, as frenemy or ghost—
the last page missing always laughs the most.
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