a baby sits... splashing the
thought around withs its
small hands and feet...
a parent watches with a
little trepidation as the child
plays without supervision...
neighbors report the incident
to the local police who are
still on their morning break
and fail to respond in a manner
inconsistent with the times...
a man in a flannel suit arrives
and sweeps away the baby
along with the puddle into a
vacant lot where the noonday
river likes to nod to passerbyes;
the grammar lady arrives late
erasing all that had been written
in the day's journal, hoping to
teach a lesson by covering all
her bases in case a fowl word
was hit but ruled not at all...
all the leagues of writers
stood by, paraphrasing their
thoughts in an effort to save
the baby from the puddle
before it had been swept
away by the man in the
flannel suit into a recent and
unexpected river of dreams.
23 November 2021
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