There are words creeping across the meadow,
\nhere beside
\nthe Queen’s Highway.
\nI can hear them out there
\non their little legs,
\nall
\nAs
\nand
\nMs
\nand
\nPeg-leg P,
\nno doubt with
\nthat infernal, pop-gun,
\npiratical pistol.
\nPlease, pardon my alliteration.
\nThey’re making their
\nplans,
\nI can hear them out there,
\nlike tiny,
\nHitchcockian
\nhighwaymen,
\nand they’re going to
\nhighjack
\nthe precious hours
\nof
\nmy day.<\/p>\n
I’d like to go out.
\nI’d like to go sit in my car
\nin the rain
\nand watch the people
\nstroll by with their
\ngaudy umbrellas
\n–
\nHave you noticed that
\nnobody carries black umbrellas
\nanymore,
\nexcept for those cheap,
\nawful
\nlittle disposable
\njimsons?
\nEverything is
\npeppermint stripes
\nor
\nsunflowers
\nnow,
\nor starry nights.
\nI wonder if Van Gogh
\nowned an umbrella?
\n–
\nOr maybe if the rain would let up,
\nI could go to the park
\nand listen to the children
\nflying kites.<\/p>\n
As much as I enjoy watching
\nthe kites dart
\nand rip holes in the
\nafternoon,
\nI’d much rather listen
\nto the joy
\nof their flyers
\nbecause I know that feeling
\nthat exultation.
\nI fly kites too.<\/p>\n
But no.<\/p>\n
I’ll sit here with my pen,
\ncapturing those
\nspidery intruders
\nas they crawl across
\nthe sunlit floor of my day.<\/p>\n
I’ll capture them
\npinning them to paper.
\nAnd I’ll be safe for a while,
\nfrom those words.
\nAnd I’ll feel a different
\nexultation,
\none which will be doubly
\necstatic,
\nwhen I fold and paste
\nthat rough, first-draft page
\ninto a kite
\nand join the children,
\ntearing holes in the sky
\nof an afternoon.
\nI’ll have nothing to fear
\nfrom the words
\nthat will be frightened enough
\nof me
\nthat they’ll retreat and regroup
\nto assault me some other time,
\non some other rainy day,
\nin the inky darkness
\nbeside the Queen’s Highway.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There are words creeping across the meadow, here beside the Queen’s Highway. I can hear them out there on their little legs, all As and Ms and Peg-leg P, no doubt with that infernal, pop-gun, piratical pistol. Please, pardon my alliteration. They’re making their plans,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1052,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-46318","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46318","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1052"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=46318"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46318\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":46602,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46318\/revisions\/46602"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=46318"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=46318"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=46318"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}