Ms Taylor was gawking at me.
What kind of dystopia is this?
She’s tramping all over
the north bank,
reddish and smirking.
I tried to act nonchalant.
This is an undertaking, not
a cry for the undertaker!
How cumbersome having to explain.
We saw a turtle poke out
its head from the water.
At least she’s not snarling now.
I hope this story is taking shape.
It’s not exactly a memoir.
Meanwhile, prairie dogs squeaked
warning of Ms Taylor, whose shadow
fell on their burrow, out of my range.
Yes! Day 4
“Write an imagined life poem. The imagined life could be your own, or imagining a life for someone else–like a person you see at the bus stop, grocery store, or library. If for yourself, the imagined life might be another possible parallel outcome or a possible future (for better or worse).”