The antibiotic has me so sick now that I'm hanging by my nails on the edge of a cliff. My bed is actually a stand-in for the cliff since we have none in Florida.
I need to do at least one productive thing a day for the remaining three weeks of the med, so will post old poems or pictures or whatever might tantelize the imagination..perhaps a doodle of my nose or crooked finger one of the days. Anyway, this is an early quite short poem based on on T.S. Elliot's most infamous poetic characters.
Stop your moaning
about rolled trousers and peaches.
Who cares whether mermaids
croon songs to you
through throats parched
(they probably sing offkey anyway)
Take a chance! Eat that peach.
Let Peter Pan be your North Star.
Tug on those green tights and fly!