Strange Poem’s So On Point

So on point–she of the silver luggage
would not accept the lack of bathtub,
and she cancelled the booking.
At least she wouldn’t have been
one who’d hoot like a savage.

I wouldn’t have imagined this life
made. I made the bed so would have
to lie on it. For someone who’d been
reckless, I’ve had to toe the line
too, when occasion called for it.

Adrienne, the night crept up on me.
So longing of bed and poetry.
I’m secretly happy. When the sun rose
obediently, the bathtub, it would
be right back where it belonged.


The clock runs our lives of course. But then which clock? Yours or mine? The prompt is being dropped off in my night. Which gives me a headstart I reckon, if I write a poem before bedtime. If not then I’d be falling behind. I’d rather not be falling behind if I can help it. So far that’s more or less how it worked. It’s more of a rush to write in the morning because you usually have to dash off somewhere. So am I glad Robert Brewer asked for a So (blank–meaning put in anything here) kind of prompt. I’m so on point today.


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