2014 #301

“Hey don’t be starting trouble.”
Bartender said that to Adjective.
Bartender saying that to Adjective,
saying to don’t be starting trouble,
didn’t really soothe Glossary’s
escalating anxiety,
like the bartender knew this adjective

enough to know this particular
adjective was often a very
troublesome adjective
and a glance Glossary dared cast
supplied enlightenment because
Adjective wore scars of all ages,
a dark red scar here, a wide, cheaply-stitched

scar there, and Glossary might’ve given
a dish of warm cream for the whimpering
sympathy that crawled from under a pile
of dry brown leaves, because Glossary
knew how hard adjectives had it these days,
finding places they’d feel welcome, places
other than this dark pub in this

isolated town, but Glossary
just couldn’t muster a mood
able to encourage sympathy.
The tables too had gone quiet,
the tables the dictionaries
were sitting around. Glossary
didn’t have to turn to look to know

the dictionaries were watching.
“Trouble? Me? Being trouble?
I just want to know why such a fancy
glossary would chance to wander to our
cozy, isolated, little, town,
what a glossary thinks
a dictionary town like our town is

would want to buy anything from
a glossary. Nope. Nothing I can think of
I’d like to buy from a glossary.
Not when we have plenty of dictionaries.
Since this is a dictionary
– a hard-working – dictionary town.”
“Nor do I expect you to have a need

or desire for what I sell. Congratulations.
Many do not. Otherwise I’d travel
not in my rusty clunker
but a vehicle that purrs and is chic.”
Just then a wave of gravelly grumbles
began to swell at the tables where
the dictionaries had been sitting around.

Advertisements

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.
This entry was posted in poetry, story-poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s