Sticking Point Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Poems are like a Pooh Stick -
You hunt around for something gnarly
That can be recognized
But that irrepressibly
Has pretension towards fluid dynamics.

When you have found your stick
Pare off the redundant twigs carefully
Leaving only what’s designed
So that inevitably
It projects personal ergonomics.

Then take a cast and launch the stick -
Run across the bridge eagerly
To see it bob and broach the other side
Hopefully incredibly
Taking leeway free of snags and hitches.

Too often though the stick sticks
Stuck against a barrier irritatingly
Dead in the water or tugged aside
Though ineffably

The wise old stream flows free and wide.