Six Months And A Wake Up- Again

in Poetry

Again,
Standard Time has its day say-
dim whispers in the dark.
You don’t say, Sotto voce?
I don’t, but how hard and fast
Can
A
Curtain
Drop?

Act 1 on the run
as the posse shadows the sun
with daylight being arrested

and cold is the bail
and damp is the dungeon
and any trial is a season
or two away, they say-
and
only then-can
we Spring
‘em.

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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