Heavy sunflower heads bow,
hang-out of upside-down,
trapeze-jaded rodents.
Corn planted on a lark
never has a chance to ripen,
husks hastily ripped open.
Neighbours offer peanuts,
but this side of the fence,
slingshots inhabit autumn dreams.
3 comments:
This is a poem and no mistake: none of the prose arranged loosely but honed, this one.
Squirrels blase about their circus acts-- I can see them, sniping at your garden.
Is this on Nevada yet? What is a squirrel in Quebecois...
Ouaish
Aish, Paula,
Does this merit the oasis? Not sure. Maybe a bit more work. But thanks for looking in. As far as I know, squirrel is écureuil in both québecois and français.
RT
I followed you here from Paula's wingtips. Corn planted on a lark took me in several directions, all good. I'm interested in the continuum of musicians though, and hope you write more about that. Sax? French?
Rebecca
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