Here we've come
to the valley of time
The river never floods
unless we attempt
to remember
where we put our keys
It's then it becomes
The Box Canyon of Time
If we lost our glasses
it becomes
The Grand Canyon of Time
...at night
and the river
is full of
ferocious magazine racks
escaped ottomans
and cold-blooded Legos
If we're drunk
crawling into our home
it becomes
The Mariana's Trench of Time
full of those weird fish
with the lighted lures
and big teeth
Those teeth are actually
the steps up to our bedroom
where upon we fall
into the gaping maw of sleep
Maws always gape
If one is trying
to discuss the finances
of a relationship
and why one cannot
buy a set of tools
or a new Brazilian Bikini
it becomes
the Black Hole of Time
A big one sucking up the universe
followed by
make-up sex of the universe
Now that we've discussed
this topic from
its logical beginning
Do attempt to avoid
this type of poem
because they are
The Potholes of Time
and you've just blown
The Tire of Time
Barry G. Wick
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2 comments:
I love the ending! It feels like the poem is going one direction, and all of a sudden it isn't. And I have certainly fallen into the Potholes of Time, way too often, both with what I read or listen to, and the stuff I try to write/play. All that effort, and by the end of it, a waste of time.
Sigh.
The end was a surprise for me that I didn't expect when I wrote it.
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