Bound to Happen
Well, it was bound to happen.
I would streak across the virtual stage
showing fellow poets my shortcomings,
with no tuxedo'd David Niven, thank God,
to cut me further down to size.
It was bound to happen,
a lackluster night at the Broken Trochee Saloon,
where the drinks had more water than fire.
Bound to happen,
my rhymes fading to grey in the laundry,
cuffs becoming quite threadbare,
two-inch rip at the inseam.
Rejection letter, polite applause,
social-media snark. It was bound to happen.
Poetry by Thomas D
Read 137 times
Written on 2020-05-31 at 03:39
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