poetry

lift

I’m gonna move it a millionth-mile...

Lift.
    I’m gonna
  Pick it stiffened-up.
      I’m gonna move it a millionth-mile,
    Wait and see.
        Shift.
      I’m gonna shove it with my shoulder;
    I’m gonna smile-bashful on the boulder
  Rolling-up the ridge in-front-of-me.
      Swiftly,
          I’m gonna race into rage;
      I’m gonna rip gate-off-the-cage
  For the mock’bird who’d want to taunt me—
    Let ’em see with chirpless clarity.
      Miffed.
        The story’ll be tiffed
    With pencil-tips as to how it was or should be;
      But dare understand me:
  My fight was
    Always a
Gift—

  And o’er
        So very little
                    To do with me.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Yaw
        https://windstrewn.com/2018/01/09/yaw/


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