Twenty-one on March 17

 

 

 

I was tired of                                                                                          hopping,

of being                                       compelled

to speak, laugh, jig.

Tired of using                                                                                    squiggly lines

to verbalize luck                                  or lack thereof.

Tired  of  s u r r o u n d  s o u n d s

of cccccchatter,                                                                                  being pinched,

collective howls                                 from merrymakers

sauced at the bar.

Tired of                                          phone numbers

soaking                                                                                                  in  my  lap.

Tired of                                 discordant existence.

I sifted out                                                                                      f l o a t i n g musicians,

unleashed                                     captive <notes>

                                                                                       trapped in a web of smoke,

arranged shamrock                                origami dollars

                                                                                                 on paper tablecloths,

collected memories                     of snakes and toads

             from a not  forever                           banished black book,

and released captive blarney hangovers.

Tired,                                                                no longer green,

                                                                                                             I  went home.

~ by dianeklammer on March 16, 2013.

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