Outlaw Pete

 

The idea bandit comes undone

 

 

I saw you steal my words and run

Heading off at a lick

Across the open page

And up the steep incline of that tricky metaphor

You thought your footing was sure

Didn’t see I hadn’t quite finished constructing that last line

I’d polished the one before it, though

So I watched in quiet satisfaction

As you slipped warbling off the end of onomatopoeic

And crashed squealing through the stanza below

Even from here I could see you’d busted your cadence

And torn your thesaurus

No harm to your dignity, though

You never had any to begin with.

 

 

 

©2016