Friday Poem
© 2 Dec 2011 Luther Tychonievich
Licensed under Creative Commons: CC BY-NC-ND 3.0
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Friday Poem

An accidental hole in the fabric of reality.


Untitled Poem

In heaven’s bright and lofty halls, where men with angels dwell,
I met my mother’s brother’s wife and all her friends as well.
She was a short and youthful lass (she’d died before she’d aged)
And seemed (despite the heav’nly bliss) to always be enraged.
“‍I hate the harps, the halos, heaven!‍” roared this aunt of mine,
“‍I hated Earth, but being here it’s Earth for which I pine!‍”
The posse that surrounded her all simpered they agreed,
And that’s the moment that I fear I did the awful deed.
You see, I am a clever sort, and in that realm of light
I’d figured out just how it was that angels stayed in flight;
So when this group complained to me I reached out with my soul
And gave reality a twist that opened up a hole.
Once they had fallen I gave mind to fixing up the gap
But fear I pulled on some wrong thread (I am a clumsy chap).
Then all of heav’n’s reality unraveled in my grip
And angels noticed they were doomed upon a sinking ship.
Well, angels turn out to be handy, even in a pinch,
And soon they pulled the falling clouds back up with some big winch;
But as the heav’nly duct tape roll was patching up my tear
Embarrassment o’er came my soul; to linger I’d not dare.
Thus, just before the final piece of tape was put in place
I darted through the patched up hole, and landed on my face
Right in that puddle where you found me lying, officer.
So please don’t charge me like some drunk; a warning I’d prefer.

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