Treasure Island

Jan Sand

(February 2 1926 / USA)


The middle of the week
Wherein I balance on one foot
On the crack, the leak
Where past dribbles into future
And entropy sucks life
From activity. This suture
Healing memory to possibility
So compacted failures might
Form nourishment for hopes
To solidify my life to something bright.

Today a meteor, a diamond big
As a cabbage should come to fly
In my back yard to swipe a tree and dig
Itself half down to wink at me with stony eye.

Today I shall discover bumps upon my shoulder blades
Which undoubtedly will presage further sprout
And, in short time, to accolades,
Full blown wings will pop out

Today a knock upon my front door
Will announce a gorgeous girl who smiles
And indicates that I qualify, more
Than adequate to match her sexy wiles.

Today my local community will phone
To appoint me as their sage,
Offer me a seat in Congress where, alone,
I can lead my constituents to a golden age.

Today fourteen big eyed aliens will land
And offer me to be ambassador
To the galaxy. With friendly tentacles to my hand
We seal the deal and they depart in rocket roar.

The day is closing down.
I sit here to fiddle with my computer.
Nothing of immense renown
Could be muter.
Soon Thursday will emerge
Stifling the Wednesday manic.
One cannot stem time=s surge.
But still, no need to panic.
Wednesday awaits a week from now.
Who knows what it might endow?

Submitted: Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, May 21, 2013

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