Soon our money will be spent
fixing up our drier vent.
Thought that Sears could do the job,
but they’re just a high-priced mob.
I think the clothesline’s good enough
unfailing sun dries all our stuff.
He wants bath towels extra soft,
they’re too rough when hung aloft.
Received another estimate,
more fair than the one Sears sent.
Still, they need to break a wall,
pipe to the roof and that’s not all.
From the line a bird takes wing,
that’s where I still hang our things.
Lawn and sky comply with codes,
natural vents for washer loads.
What a mixed up mess I have brought
on my traveling train of thought!
Can I find any useful thing
in the crammed suitcases I bring?
There is no reason for the need
of dried-up poems gone to seed;
Lines that tried to fly with “feather”
but fell flat when rhymed with “leather”;
Labored paragraphs I carried,
so unlikely they’ll get married.
Phrases incomplete when single,
doubt this trip drives them to mingle;
Subject matter I should throw out
since no one reads what it’s about;
Sickening sweet Valentine verse
fattens my mind and maybe worse;
The train chugs down its mindful track,
loaded with bags I can’t send back.