I cannot do the splits

by on August 15, 2015 :: 0 comments

the way blonde cheerleaders
in mini-skirts land hard,
slap both thighs at mid-court —

one leg out front, straight,
the other stretched back,
toes pointed, everything taut —

bounce back to their feet,
cartwheel around, five times
or four. Hope, however,

does leap up, seek bright sky,
gain height, write a love poem
on damp parchment, in Greek,

before coming down, janitor
once more, still dreamy,
to mop the gym floor.

editors note:

Me neither, not without traction and painkillers. Let’s write poetry and keep the mops handy. – mh clay

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