Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
Buzzing about my
Head were worries with sharp points
Ready to pierce my peace
Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
Pointing a waxen
Finger, the sickly witch watched
The figure crumble
Sitting on the dock
She watched the gulls fly homeward
Sea air filled her lungs
Waiting takes patience
Patience takes understanding
Of which I have none
She stirred restlessly
Resentful of the morning rays
Shining on her face
Don’t know what to write
But practice makes perfect so–
This is what I’ll do
Christmas is coming
Packages are wrapped finely
But lost in the mail!
The bird’s encircled
Turkey did not stand a chance
Who gets the wishbone?
Bones feeling achy
Face shines with perspiration
I need orange juice