by Linda M Au
I just hope it’s not a call about the engine light. Because I’m officially declaring yesterday over.
Final update: Eventually, son made it back home with no more car problems. Nothing burned or exploded. No one threw up. The world as we know it didn’t end.
I’m taking a nap. Wake me in September.
Dead Lines (a poem written for no reason)
The clock is ticking off the hours,
One thought dies, another cowers.
The page is filled with penned red lines:
One word stinks, the other shines.
My mind’s devoid of all its powers,
Ideas ripen—then each sours.
My scattered thoughts make no headlines;
In fact, they mostly just shred lines.
Editors think, “Let’s disavow hers,
Since every line can’t rhyme with ‘flowers’!”
Now I’ll end up in those bread lines
Unless I make a few deadlines.
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