Eyes closed, fingers trembling,
Anticipation mounting,
A thunk, an upward glance.
What the . . .?
Is that a . . .?
Yes. Yes, it is.
It’s a sombrero.
Dedicated to Ellis: Thanks for always finding new and exciting ways to humiliate me in public on my birthday.
To Peggy: I don’t want to hear anything about being forced to wear fairy wings and a pimp hat. It's clearly not the same thing.
I just had to add one more poem under this topic that I dedicate to my brother, TJ – a true William Carlos Williams fan.
“the red sombrero”
so much depends upon
a red sombrero
glazed with taco sauce
beside the white Bajios franchise.
4 comments:
I'm pretty sure I've never hated you more than I do right now. I am totally teaching your children how to swear while they're at my house today. Little Lucy will be able to make a sailor blush!!!
Okay, how cool it is that you actually have a personal photo to go along with your poem!
I'm jealous.
I think Peggy is, too. (Just a guess)
Jami- Your poems are great. Mine all start with, "Rose are red..." Aly
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