A Poem

The hens were scratching for a change.
I left the porch to find
The rooster limp and sprawled.
He crawled despite a hundred bites.
He never once had strayed.
You don't get a poem today.

The weatherwoman promised rain.
The sky collapsed to smears
Of darkest gray debris.
The breezes cleared it all away.
The sun's a searing pain.
You don't get a poem today.

She neared to meet my bursting flame
And lit and blazed against the heat,
Yet crumbled fast just like 
A fumbled finger tap above
A cigarette ashtray.
You don't get a poem today.

- 2/26/26

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