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Rusty Bucket

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Book: Directive, All the Direction but Love

You can pick up your rusty bucket

And leave,

All the projects, word battles

And Go,

Runny noses, sort out socks,

And find your road,

Out of town.

Sitting in the office

The printer whirls.

Some job it has to do.

Recycling the ink,

Printing a testimony,

I hear it, and ignore it.

But you, you

I cannot.

So take your pail and

Shovel,

And leave my

Sandbox,

Now.

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last updated 31 March 2021 - 5:13pm
©31 March 2021 - 5:02pm — djtj
31 March 2021 - 7:20pm — S74rw4rd
S74rw4rd's picture

I applaud your use of this

I applaud your use of this extended metaphor.

Starward

5 April 2021 - 12:53pm — djtj
djtj's picture

Thnak you

Its a slap and dash poem.  Thanks for your kind visit.  Just letting out some feelings.

Deb

5 April 2021 - 9:03pm — S74rw4rd
S74rw4rd's picture

But you let those feelings

But you let those feelings out with verbal finesse!

Starward

31 March 2021 - 6:20pm — allets
allets's picture

Sand Box Exile

That's pretty final! "Rusty bucket" says it all.   :D 

 

 

5 April 2021 - 12:54pm — djtj
djtj's picture

Thanks

With this muse its never final...what would I do without his constant irritation!