#rhyming poem

Necks below the heads of birds
tweet the marbled meat

Post de-heading

still are words

gargled
gasping for a treat

Against the solid wooden block
porcelain taffy glints

an odorous gander,
unfragrable cock

featherhead
poisoned ivy and lints

Poultry magnaminance
chickety-chick

chickety

the Underhouse carriage
looks rickety

up by the marquee,
aclicking his clock
The Craftsman sat spindling his loom

coarse is the grain
on a pinewooden frock
or the larktree

Buttoned
doom

—

i.

May calls me away from you,

at least for five days a week back to

the city where I’m working 9 ‘til 5.

You’re back under your mother’s thumb,

sleeping through the days, just trying to survive.

ii.

I’m not allowed through your doorway.

Lately I’ve been thinking that if this was a fairy story,

I could ride up on a white horse and set you free.

We could ride off into the sunset.

You could be with me.

iii.

But those stories weren’t written about the real world,

and never about two girls.

Still, I don’t believe May can be all tragic,

not when you fall into my arms every Friday evening and

these weekends are the closest things we have to magic.