Skip to content →

Revolving

“Review rearview.” Those words are playing tricks.
From thought to thought which is which?
Whose hand is in this job?
People, Steeple or the Mob:

If People they can bob.
Steeples even worse.
Could be an inside job.
Job at his very worst.

But I say sell seashells by the seashore.
Pick peppers and pickles ever more.
The delight of language is forever.
Laugh stuck in a revolving door.

Published in Poetry