photo credit Judy BirdsongFlailing

Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can . . .

WB Yeats, “The Circus Animals’ Desertion”

In the not so good ol’ days of yore,

the heyday

in my blood

untamed,

I’d tap out trite love poems

on a typewriter.

Frustrated, I might snatch the paper from the machine,

ball up the

the aborted Petrarchan

bellyaching,

and fling it across the room –

as if I were a protagonist in a film,

not a melodramatic nobody

all hepped up on hormones

sitting at a desk

flailing.

photo credit Judy Birdsong