Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Barbecue, a poem


The monster under my bed
has been feuding with
the one in the closet.

I hear them growl at each other
when they think I’m asleep,
arguing over who

has the better storage boxes
and whether I’d taste better
with a mustard or tomato-based

barbecue sauce. I’m partial
to mustard myself but not
inclined to offer an opinion.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

I sat up in bed and wrote most of this one in the middle of last night. It was stormy, leading to fitful sleep -- the sort of night that lends itself to such odd thoughts. I could have gone on and on with the conceit here, but what would be the point?

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