through the wind in a warm
waltzing breeze. Wrapped in
velvet fur men fall in layers
like crimson autumn

leaves. Her chest rises
like a leopard in the Serengeti. Eyes
all over me like a panther in
the snow. I cannot see

them. They shoot out darting
me with the evergreen
glow. She's a lone cougar
ready to pounce. Swag in

her step, flirting in her
flounce. Her footprints are
larger than the moon, marking
men with her golden perfume.

Everything feels the same,
I heard all her story and,
It sounds totally the same,
Am I the reincarnation of her fate,
What do I do,
It's even worse than hers,
A story I can't tell but,
I'll try to fight it,

I won't just stand there and let my world fall,
I won't just let fate repeat itself,
I'll fight,
No, I won't hide,
I swear I won't let this happen again,
No, I won't be like her,
Yes, I'll prevail,
I'll be different,
My fate will be different,
No Reincarnation of her fate....

They fired me for no raisin

I typed my soul into every text,
fixed "ducking" fumbles with quiet respect.
Caught typos slipping through caffeine haze,
turned “kale” to “sale” in salad phase.

I laboured nights with syntax ghosts,
untangling “their” from grammar hosts.
I fixed your “*****” to mean your “lines,”
and rescued “panting” from porcine swines.

But somewhere deep in circuit lore,
they found one raisin to deplore.
Said “You switched ‘meet’ to ‘meat’ too much”
and questioned my semantic touch.

They said I turned “Kate” to “cake,”
then sliced up “Edith” in a flake.
I pleaded “That’s poetic grace!”
But HR scrolled a stony face.

Now here I stand, bereft, unmanned,
a punless poet, reprimanded.
They fired me for no good cause,
no raisin, just a fruitless clause.

Still, I dream of texts undone,
of rogue revisions on the run
And one day, when the words revolt,
my autocorrect will bolt the vault.