The Blues – A Poem

Western seagulls hang-glide blue skies.Nearby, blue-tailed magpiestilt their beaks squinting, plotting,sizing up, my azure steed’s hooves (my car tires),eyeing the morsels tucked in the tires’ grooves.While, apartment dwellers in skyscrapers’sing the blues.’—about trotting hooves making beelinesfor personal earlobe real estate.Here’s a prime example:Mondays’ eve, come mid-Winterwhen HDTVs become ramparts blasting sound volleys, down-the-hall turrets;pelting HockeyContinue reading “The Blues – A Poem”