Miss First January canoed from the clouds
And anchored right beside Mr. Midnight
Red flower on the right, a book on the left
Traveling bag strapped on her back
Balancing a steaming pot on the head
A pen in front pocket of long white dress
With a rapture of piercing beckoning smile
She aired fleeting breath “this year, this year”
Could the fate of the year be in the book?
Could it be in the steaming pot on balance?
Is the fate with the red flower or the book?
No jubilation action can paste the answers
The fireworks, ululations, chip-chapping
The chickens’ tears and twisting of waists
Are nothing but prayers of hope of the blind
As the truth for the year may be in the bag
Canoeing on the Tomoka River
A cool spring day with gulls leading in line
My male companion had never canoed
So the powerful paddling chore was mine
Heaving breathlessly I rowed us along
Attempting to transport us far upstream
It was then quite a shock came from the blue
A startling splash down my back made me scream
My friend jumped and nearly toppled the boat
I rose carefully and turned ‘round to find
A mullet jumped into my rented canoe
It twisted and flopped to escape its confines
This event preceded my fishing days
And I was happy when the fish flew out
This was the first fish that I’d ever caught
No reel, no hook, and bait I did without
Years later I bought a cabin cruiser
Because seafood is tops on my menu
Many days offshore with nary a bite
Maybe I should have purchased a canoe
*True story for Nikko's Twist and Shock contest
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