The Sky Has Gills
Broken-hearted are the tree limbs,
General Flooding surveys the wreckage
blames a subversive sky.
Gamely, the peg-legged scarecrow
salutes the wavy navy
while they row on by
in their bathtub parade.
It's a fine day under water,
cats are stewing poems
in a bobbing blue barrel;
words drip from their whiskers.
Ducks flop their slippery wings
as oily drums grease
their oily bones.
Rowdy are the gulls
that pipe the rain ashore,
it's as if the blocked-up
boggy landlubbers
had Mackerel eyes,
or as if the sky had gills
and needed more.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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