adventures in dysthymia

Sunday, December 01, 2013

Chewed, a poem

Chewed

I lost the words I meant
to say to you. Maybe
they’re under the cushions, slipped
out of my pocket while I sat
writing on the couch.
Or could the dogs have snatched
them when I wasn’t looking,
to play their games of tug
of war in the yard?
Well-chewed words, lint-covered
words are still usable,
I think. I’ll just rinse them
off, smooth them, stick them
into another poem
while no one is paying attention.
Maybe they’re in this one.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

another little throw-away

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