#1013866 added July 18, 2021 at 11:26pm Restrictions: None
Today
We listen to him personify whiskers on his face,
narrating how they escaped the razor.
Wily, spry, gray rebels sprung free, sproing!
from the shadowed, pale patches
in unchartered regions 'neath
his chin and cheek that mock
a groggy, wrinkled face, before
black brows muscle up on his forehead,
when he's stopped, reminded
again, that it’s Sunday and
he is not yet dressed for church,
if he's going. And so,
his shadow darkens the hall
back to the bedroom
to start the morning over
again. He
rolls open the top dresser drawer.
Two black socks peer back at him.
Are we going to play?
7.18.21
19 lines, freeverse
Something I made up today from the poem open about my personifying and narrating that can both amuse and annoy, though mostly the latter, if you ask them.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.20 seconds at 1:30am on Oct 05, 2024 via server web1.