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Pop Goes The Weasel

by David Maurice

Dancer left a trail for snail
two steps, one slide
and down the rabbit hole

Prancer kept a roll of dimes
for times she needed to run
the fun was in the leaving

Dogs bark at the moon
the rooms are filled
without thinking

And who are you to choose
who lives or dies
or rolls their dimes
or leaves a trail
for us to find?

And who am I to wag the dog
and drive the bus
to flag you down
and never miss?


Author's Note: Half a pound of treacle.

Posted on 07/12/2014
Copyright © 2021 David Maurice

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/18/14 at 07:54 PM

Fun read...exercise in connect the dots, Dave.

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