2014 #106

steel claw slid down the groove before
catching the wave’s lip and a yank
said it wasn’t going anywhere

including the claw
and even the old
gouges in the wall

would’ve retracted if they’d been given
rollers on installation – one glance
at the evil glint made that clear,

but the toes were tungsten,
jabbed, and all those days
with iron eased the climb

but the slide to the sea
went slicker than eating
a cherry covered in chocolate.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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