Underground Turtles

Let it not be such,
better it be steam or the wind.

Let it be the movement of the branch,
the tips clawing at the window,
anything –

the etchings left by a snake in the sand,
shifting shavings left there askew
mixed with the droppings of a rat,

the ravings of a madman –
my steam-driven pen.

©Aug 27, 2012 by UT2

ascend the ladder,
descend the ladder,

sandal drops,
miss the step,

bang my shin,
pain rises;

shaken, then,
I resume pruning:

dead leaves,
dead deeds,

words. . .I even penned my best poem. . . !
I am delusional.

I get a good laugh and I even look up the word “balderdash.”
Even read an old poem by Billy Collins.

It was the worst day.
It was the best day.

©Aug 19, 2013 by UT2