Out Like a Lamb

This Time

The first time Fear barged in, I cringed;
a shrinky-dink slammed into the oven
set properly at 325 but baked too long.
I came out blobby, blackened, burned.

The next time Fear took shape, I fought;
pulled on my garden gloves, stood small
and gently placed my punches like a girl
raised by a patriarch, properly oppressed.

The third occasion Fear came by, I fled;
slower than a gastropod, a steady snail
determined in my sleep to learn to laze.
He tripped o'er me and bruised his bone.

This time Fear attacked and I served tea;
invited him to sit a spell, suggested films...
I put on Jaws but he was scared of sharks;
he bled, then ran, and kept, at last, away.


note ▼

April 7—“Play the opposites”—a theatre term I sometimes don’t like! But here I mean: do something unexpected in your poem, once or more than once. Any time you spot a cliché of feeling or of words, try its opposite, and somehow make it work!