This, my final poem, was a combination response to one of several “challenges” posted at pffa during NaPo, a response to an exercise I’ve done before and a tribute to some of my fellow pffa Napo fools. And it is over.
It Was a Horrlequin of Another Color
-No Images Left Behind – Miko
It was three squirrels sipping lemon drop martinis
the color of goat hooves on the shaft of a gun
quivering slow dance.
Sandpaper scratching bigger than bees knocked
one down with a clink and a snort.
You may not scream, Marsha Kupp, you of the smell
from the heft of your pickle jars and canned corn
molding at the far side of Castle Anthrax.
Nay, sound soars from that bucking beak like thunder,
sweet conquest in the back row.
I’ll hold you like water, gray, in modest congregation
because that’s how this pome got in.
Besides, love is a pound cake.