a giant pillbox
hand built, blown
up by another hand…
I tried to be productive,
I really did,
I swear…
Roses are red,
Violets are blue…
Shoes off to the shirtless man…
until the babysitters swarm…
It’s raining,
It’s pouring…
Unroll the yarn ball…
summer rain…
I am hurt,
I am very much hurt.
And now…
I wrote a book,
It was called “Matches, Strike on Box…”
Daily Poets 