Philosophical thoughts about a ball

 

I have a small ball in my right hand

For I type with my left

And there is no middle

But the round contours that solidify

 

Stalling, I scratch my temple

And I throw the ball to the floor

Now I am left with my contours

And the precision of odd type

 

Meaning, I throw the pitch

The words are in the air

With false context

The sounds that glide

 

Suspended and justified for gravity sake

Linger not to temptation

For the word is at hand

Can’t throw it way

 

It’s too late

Ready for the Editor

And he plays his tune

Like the pied piper

 

No center finds syllables

Nor does a rhythm compose

My life like a street

Vacationed for others to sight

 

It pinches

The attention and …

Will probably hit you in the face

Bruise you I hope

 

Because no matter can sanctify

The mediocrity of a stupid ball

 

 

Reviews

[Blackbirdsong]

I really like the word play in this one and the playfulness of it is really great. The stupid ball that was so stupid you wrote this about it...so is the ball stupid or is more of the frustration of the writer's life and the editor biding his time? You could do a series of these, "Philosophical Thoughts About a Potato Peeling," or something...just a thought :)