"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Dear commuter train...

Day 17: Write a poem in the form of a letter to an inanimate object, using at least four of the six items provided in the prompt (see link). Of course I used all six, since I'm awesome (read: glutton for punishment).

Knock it off.
No, seriously -
never have I thought
that I would worry
that something as simple
as a slice of watermelon
on the track
could keep me
from getting to work on time.
I can't imagine
finding something more
tragically triumphant
than the seven feet
you just moved
after our twenty-first short-stop.
Have you ever tried to
step in my shoes?
Can you see where I'm coming from?
It shouldn't be such a struggle
to move from 215th street
all the way to 216th street.
After all, it isn't like we're
Chamberlain, calling for bayonets
down the slope of Little Round Top.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Shins, Past And Pending

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