Day 9 Whew!
Write a shady poem. I had some inspiration and assistance with this one. So, thank you Nutmeg, my muse for today. Sometimes mine goes on an extended vacation and forgets to bring me.
One of these days I’ll get creative and write a form instead of free-verse.
“The silent law”
He was a tad uncomfortable at the St. Louis wedding.
Well, who wasn’t? You and me sitting there, me picking
at the food while you had a little champagne and I had
an Amaretto on the rocks and cake when the band played
the Stones and those two sultry bridesmaids hobbled in
There should have been a mandatory silence but the tan
Texan from Chicago who flew them all there stirred the
crowd’s jubilee muzzling the outsiders’ whispers.
All they want to do is eat, drink, and talk clan. It’s the same
at every family event.
A silent law. You know. I know it. He knows it.
Mr. Uncomfortable might barely know some of his cousins
but you can’t cut out the family, or worse, invite some and
It’s clan suicide.
He cowered alone at a round table in the corner spinning
a gold band around his finger watching the girls through
the mosaic mirrors on the walls through his bloated
Rocky Balboa eyes.