Humor

Cunning, no less

whiskers are self-aware we think they train themselves and have a care and so avoid the sink the sharpest razor surest hand might catch them in the pink but the smarty ones just bend, don’t stand and miss the poet’s ink.

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Planters wart

Johnny-come-lately, I plant bulbs stupidly in the cooling earth under powder of snow with a straight spade I dig up cake-flaps of sod I disregard directions and just drop them in, the oniony things. This blasted blizzard. I drop to one knee, hard of breathing, hit by BB’s of ice

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