It’s all the little things
conspiring to do me in,
not guns or knives
or horse stampede
or shark attack.
Your thoughtless words that pierce
through summer warmth
to chill me and reheat me,
serve me flayed and shriveled,
pass the mustard, please.
Your passing glance that sizzles
skin and spunk and shrinks
my bones and curls my toes
enough so I can fit
into a platter, main dish, yum.
I misunderstood, perhaps,
but still I’m fricasseed
and fried. I must apologize
If you mistook my look
for hate or if I ate you.
published in Chewers by Masticadores
Haha! Delicious! ..The tone
So cleverly done again. I'll be heading back to Ukraine and getting a team together called forestbathers unit: this is to carry out forest therapy sessions for those with war trauma. I have been thinking for a while about short poetry composed while in the forest may help them with that a lot.
This morning it is becoming clear it really meet.
Please say you'll join the team; There is a few of us on the ground in Kharkiv, but we may have to move, not the bombing, but the forest trails just may be mined. However, we plan a location nearby and will keep you informed.
When I say please join I mean formally. I…