Author: Sharlyn Guthrie

POPPY in her lapel, she entered the
CRYPT with purpose and
POISE- albeit with spine bent and
FLESH sagging. Sixty years hence his face and this place were still not forgotten.

SHEER luck that the
ROWER and her duffer stayed
DRIER than any others- all for her
CINCHing up on the oar over and over- but perhaps it wasn’t sheer luck, but sheer power!

JOKER she wasn’t -his mother! A loose
TOOTH could not be ignored. She’d
LASSO it thrice for good measure, then
CRANK till he hollered, “No more!”

You may Watermelon
CRAWL in a country line,
GLIDE like a Russian Beriozka,
POLKA at Lee County Fair, gyrate your
GROIN like Elvis or 6ix9ine.
Dance however you choose, but may you always be genuine.

BUSHY eyebrows furrowed, crazed- don’t
WORRY! But hurry- and take time to
SHAVE before you tiptoe out to meet your date on the
PATIO

CURVE lips inward, embouchure set
START blowing with keen execution
REEDY tones on the clarinet, whose
VOICE sounds breathy- nearly human.

“PRESS” the round
DECAL instructed. I did.
VOCAL orders ensued- with much
GUSTO I quickly obeyed, lest that voice might think me rude.

“CLICK” my flashlight revealed to me
ARTSY designs where its narrow beam
SHONE up and down the wooden
PLANK now “enhanced” by an urban tagger’s prank.

MOODY is how I am feeling as this day
TAPERs and little is gained. So I will eat
CHILI (it is all that remains), then I’ll
SWILL the weeks old “Happy New Year” champagne.

AIDER in tilling the land,
WHEEL your way up to the
VISTA so grand that your fruits will
RIPEN before you even as awestruck you stand.