emergency purge

currency colluding with sailing vessels
slunk so foreign sludge littered the sleepy
shore, doing this as all except
a notoriously plastered poet
tried to hide in dreamland, seeping into sands,

so the morning scents of grilling stingray,
of crab and clam, sounds of piston
in battle with valve and smoke
puffs courting foams about to crash,
well all of it diverted attentions

including the dutiful comber,
so nightly washed in the foreign
sludge in the form of currency,
seeping into sands. Not until a new
mayor inaugural gala hangover

subsided did the foreign sludge sand seepage
become an issue – headline editors
finally had glad cause to endorse
Paramount. All knew to relive
the past was futile and while the truth

stung they understood the shore
would never be innocent
as it was, and none could raise
an objection that nothing much mattered
for now except a thorough cleansing.


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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