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Jul 2013
I used to play with toys, making boxcars crawl
Now I play with words until footsteps sound from the hall
Come to greet me, see what's there
Seven feet of cold despair
Six pack of soda, six seconds of looking at the birds
Then he goes, and I turn up the noise and turn back to my words
But my thoughts are jumbled and lost
Like French fries at the bottom of the bag
Fingers crossed
That the leafy green atop the grease will prolong my playful days
Not for Bambi or Snow White, but for all the different ways
That I can place my words and save them
Like the lifeguard guards a life
That I may find a voice to raise them
Like the hunter lifts a knife
Because words are cherished playthings
Which fly on paper wings
Until I'm called away and the words must go to sleep
I'l write them here so they may be your very own to keep
First in a series called "Feud," in which every poem includes the ten responses given in a different round of Fast Money on Family Feud. I think I'm gonna allow myself to drop one or two responses from each set, because sometimes it's just ******. Omitted from this poem are "salad" and "actor."
Wrote this a couple months ago as well. Turns out there's a lot that I've written and stored away and forgotten about.
Taylor Martin
Written by
Taylor Martin  Texas
(Texas)   
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