Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Crooked Talk

Tap…tap… tap…
Inside
I saw prying noses
owl-like spectacles
mouths reeking  archeological finds
streaked me bleached with polychromatic screens

Felt I was greatly corpulent  filled  with
fungus   feathered  moss
A stranger in reckless abandon
listening to hopscotch lectures of poetry and story

No more no less
Their unmeasured aloofness
Waylayed in suspension
I aligned myself in their single file
trying to catch the cadence run-on crippled
Till my professor took note of my smell
Told me to stand straight
I sputtered out my scent of rubberized rhymes
At last, her ear-wide smile says it all.

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