Just sittin’, gettin’ maudlin
Wonderin’ why things‘re less than middlin’
No clear cut life, just muddlin’
Just a flounder too near the shore
When the tide went out.
Wish’t I was a hard-shelled crab
Too tough for the prowlers,
With claws to snap on those who get too nervy.
But here I lay, beached, weaponless,
Both eyes turned up as morsels
For the seagulls beaks.
No good choices left
When you’re stuck on the sand,
Just sittin’, gettin’ maudlin’,
Hopin’ the tide comes in
Before the scavengers find me.
A contest entry
- SMASHED - Read all rules by ellipsist.
360 points, ended May 6, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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effin' yeah! not normally a fan of repetition but I like the cyclical flow/effect of this piece... -
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Wunderbar!
Thank you with delight...ebb and flow are strong forces in my life...years at sea, you see.
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