Thunk About It

A Poem by Matt Fellows

Dry spells are no good for wishing wells,
Oceans shore never scorned me before,
Yet you’re the one who’s face is now gone,
And a storm is brewing for me to find myself.

A drone in my ear as you shout to provoke fear,
Incurred by your actions caused my honesties retraction,
“Who wudda thunk it” gathering time to debunk it,
The storms in a box high up on a shelf.