The image could not be more clear:
the blowout from a diaper,
recoiling from my precious child
as though she were a viper.
Olfactory assault enough
to bring you to your knees,
the onesie soiled, arms raised, she cries
for you to help her, please.
Shaking, sweating, retching and forlorn,
gagging in the sink, “Who gave our daughter corn?”
—————
For the “Form I - Imagism - New Poem” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Written on 03/07/2022
Blowout Flat Tire At the Cemetery Steer Clear
While on the corner of the street I adhered
A injured open wounded possum peers
Running back and forth so unclear
A loud bang I almost crash seems I have a flat tire
I jacked up my Jeep Wagoneer
Of which my blow out seemed so severe
It's the dead of night it's a bit spooky here
Mists and winds and sour smells
All of this in the atmosphere
The pans and pains of mystery premiere
Trees engulf me come towards me they adhere
I've calling AAA but my cell phone died all's not well
Boo the cat runs across the street seems to disappear
In enchanted visions of scary things dear
Bicarbonated liquid fear
Street flying squirrels gilding over near
10/14/17
James Edward Lee Sr.
Our tire blew on a country road;
We wobbled for a while.
A service station loomed; there was
A stranger with a smile.
"You need some help?" he asked.
"Your tire needs changing, I'm supposing.
They sell them down the road, but
It's two hours after closing."
We'd 40 miles left to drive
At night - that signaled danger -
But we were lucky that we met
This kind and able stranger.
He jacked the car and soon enough
The spare was set in place.
My husband tipped him handsomely;
Surprise was on his face.
"I think I'll play the lottery,"
He said and left his truck.
He hit the store, we waved goodbye
And hoped he'd have our luck.
save more go door to door
sale like never before
prance the floor
we have show
rooms and more
rain snow or hail
we
have a
CHRISTMAS BLOWOUT SALE
Friday has come
And here I go
Ready to take up the weekend
Ready to blow the Saturdays with laziness
Ready to greet Sundays in Sabbath
Ready to start the Mondays in guile And climb over the hump-day
Back to Thursday, it's getting a lil' bit more easier now to deal wtih the days
That may pass us by seven at a time
Red Beans in pot
Tasty and hot
Gas explosion