Here’s a fun, spring-time poem to finish up National Poetry Month.
Think about the sky.
It’s a new blue tablecloth
and a big hipped woman
has carelessly dribbled
gobs of whipped cream
all over it.
There she has set down
an orange bowl.
Smell cinnamon and coriander
as you scoop
spicy carrots
and squash from the bowl
to your mouth.
Bite into a raw cucumber
to cool the fiery curry
on your tongue.
Now drum your fingertips
on the table.
Listen to a jazz quartet.
Tap your feet
on a black and white
tiled floor.
When she starts to sing
those torchy blues
press your lips together
and hum
until you taste sweetened cream
spilling from the sky.
Photo by Jerome on Unsplash