Tessa, We’ll Survive Another Tragicomedy

He’s morose. Corrupt, you might say.
Maybe I’m tired of all the shenanigans.
Yes, I am. But
we’re wrapped up in a golden haze.
We’re sentient and melancholy.
Alright then, bring me my slippers
and I’ll join in.

What? The pretence, of course.
That he’s in love with two women.
Having to choose between lemon curd and
maple syrup, you know.
I’ll see you. You’ll come see me
and we’ll walk to the sand. Nothing
ramshackle about the sun.

Prompt: Write a foolish poem. I’m following a new trail of April prompts. The one by Robert Lee Brewer. The one who first got me into a poetic spree in April. We’ll see how this pans out. This time I’m tying my poems to Red Wolf Journal’s theme: Song Of Myself. If you’re following along, you might like to try doing the same. πŸ™‚


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