a towel to ride

cum-eer-cum-eer cum-eer-cum-eer
cum-eer

look at this

his call
summoned her
away from reading

he was
standing at the glass door
looking out
at the washing line

two magpies
juveniles
still grey
much more than black
short beaks
and sharp claws

hanging
a-twirl
upon two towels
draped
around the backyard hoist

ride
little magpies
you ride

let the breeze
spin you
around

ride
little magpies
ride
it will only be
for a short while


© Frank Prem, 2017

Poem #02: air china

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One thought on “a towel to ride

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