Din & ’Tonic

..

This poem
has no home.
It’s not known
for throne
nor stones
or SnoCones.
It’s quick,
just a schtick
to get
things flowing,
get things growing,
get things knowing
the right pace
for their race,
their small place
in the world.
It’s swirled
and whirled
and unfurled
without a flag
or a brag
or a gift bag
or a good gag
to give it more
than it’s asked for:
a dance floor,
a convenience store,
a small score
of petit fours
it can’t taste.
It’s erased
easily, unevenly paced
and traced
in only sky.
Don’t ask it why.
Don’t ask it to cry.
Don’t beg it to fly.
It’ll go by
at its own clip.
It’ll sip
the moon, slip
on stars, flip
over for the sun.
It’s a fast one,
a blast ton,
first class fun,
a sticky bun,
a loaded gun,
a marathon run –
the almost-last one;
and now it’s done.

 

..

A Skeltonic verse for NaPoWriMo,day 28. 

 

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