22A Poem by emipoemiTwenty-two bottles Aligned on the bar. Twenty-two mottles Of dottles and tar. Twenty-two handles Of dust, rust, and icks. Twenty-two candles With mouldering wicks. Twenty-two tables With rickety chairs. Twenty-two labels Of libels and swears- And a man in a corner Who voices his cares: Happale! Happale! Happale! Hall! Humpty Dumpty had a great fall! Carnage and darnage all over the wall! Like pickles on pumpery-nickels! Twenty-two brokers In shambles and shards. Twenty-two jokers With twenty-two cards. Twenty-two stoics Who sag to their toes. Twenty-two poets Who merely write prose. Twenty-two pages Weighed down and laid
low. Twenty-two sages Who think that they know. Twenty-two healers With septic cold sores. Twenty-two dreamers With no open doors- And the man in the corner Still rages and roars: Heppity! Heppity! Heppity! Hee! Sundried tomatoes on top of a tree! The world is awry in the direst degree! Like pickles on pumpery-nickels! Twenty-two muddles, No why or because. Twenty-two puddles Of all that once was. Twenty-two achy, Outworn, out of tune. And a little old lady Who reads Goodnight Moon. Hush! All that’s sacred Is sacred no more. All has been grated And drifts to the floor. -EDP © 2017 emipoemiReviews
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