Broken Rhythm Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Broken Rhythm



A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.

It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.

We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.

Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Chuck Audette 05 June 2008

Wonderful image and humor in this. Always something unique when I revisit your pages. -chuck

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