Hurt

Hocus pocus
Minstrel flame
You play this game

With sharp reserve
And iron nerve.
Whence came the players,
Once nay sayers,

Found the challenge
Tough to manage.
So bring it on,
Ye, woe begone.

The kestrel swoops
And alley oops
Round the bend
Through silver hoops,

Where field lies.
All whens and whys
Won’t change the outcome.
Stop sucking thumb

And turn the page.
Let go the rage,
Then carve a path
From all ye hath

Traversed to yonder land
From castles in the sand,
Now wet and buried.
We’ll wait,

Less harried and hopeless,
Abridged, drawn, remoteless
and cheer you on.
The bashful swan,

Now ready to soar
And search for more islands
And tule grass
To guard the ass

That seeks the sun,
Always overdone
And testing patience
Of generations’ mettle.

I’ll put on the kettle
And start the brew.
I thought you knew
We’d be here awhile.

Not even Julia Child
Could bake this faster.
From golden pie
To scorched disaster.

I spy my little eye,
Someone who’s been naughty,
And heirs on side of haughty,
While tasting just dessert.

A little flirt
With humble hurt.


9/21/20