"dorothy meets her match"
green city neons split light off of the red patent leather stilettos
as dorothy waits leaning against the call box in the centre of town.
she was supposed to wait here for the wizard to send his signal.
puffing on something other than a Lucky Strike,
she wonders if actually her luck has run out this time.
she looks at the wristwatch she isn't wearing,
and stares at the clock on State street's biggest bank.
the hour hand is bent to make it look later than it really is...
she THINKS it's ten thirty her time, but
it's noon in oz.
she doesn't own a Toto anymore,
just four overweight cats who don't even ask her out for a date anymore.
this wizard shook her amerikan tree empty of
all of it's coconuts..
and the beat goes on, dum-dum-dum-da-dum...
no more grief... the fone never rang..
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hhmmm, having been put in the position of "trying" to be clever with the content of this bio, i find myself at a loss. i'm better at the impromptu i believe. anyway, i write "poetry" which my family and friends patronizingly say is fine. however, the professor at our local college, (Bucks County, Pa. Poet Laureate for several years) seemed to have quite a different and less complimentary opinion. (smile).. i write for therapy which is more than any person should expect. it seems to be safer than medication and a lot less expensive.
i'm not an artist, a photographer, a musician, or a math teacher. i do APPRECIATE art, film, music and i like math. (smile).. i travel the highway and i have 13 earrings in my left ear. that's all i can think of that's "clever". |
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