Scrabble. Poem by Michael Gale

Scrabble.



A turn goes by, and then, in two or three...
Thy board of wooden tiles, to me all done, in points, over fifty.

Double word score...
I want more.

That dreaded draw of the x or z or q or j...
These tiles, all few, will ruin my day.

At the end, the linking words, points are added, then deducted...
Then, by then, in the winner's circle, am I proudly, inducted.

Can you spell and remember definitions of words, from thy brain? ...
Do tired and sleepy heavy eye lids succumb to late hour's, worked up-drain?

Scrabble...
In the end, makes my, incoherency, do I, dare, babble?

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Michael Gale

Michael Gale

Chicago Illinois/Oklahoma City.
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