Thursday, September 21, 2017

The Noun’s Rosy Glow (Day 246)

In the noun’s rosy glow,
legs stretched out 
in front of me, adjective 
minnows kissing my toes
under the cool gaze
of a tribe of water-spiders,
I lean back into the warmth
of an adverb, the one 
I’d been eyeing since 
we arrived almost 
a week ago. Bill Z. tells me
I shouldn’t run with such
a fast crowd, but I disagree. 
How would he know
of the pillowy comfort 
of the passive tense,
he who never dangled
with a participle in his life?
No, give me my sparkling
modifiers, my lazy verbs,
and I’ll leave the prickly
bits to him, standard-bearer
of brevity, killer of favorites,
unquestionable conqueror
of loquaciousness. 

In honor of William K Zinsser
to whom I promise to revise and edit this poem 
when (if?) the 1462 days end.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Pexels

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