My broad – lipped words embarrass me at times
They sing , they mock, knocking against each other, spewing rhymes!
They huddle and cuddle in my muddled mind, and break into a jig of a weird kind.
They often whistle and hiss,
contort their lips, hands on hips ask:
“What’s up
Miss?”
Something grossly amiss?
How dare they call me miss?
They run off at a tangent, guffawing in full throated bliss.
My word! Are they crazy?
“Read my lips. Read my lips,”
they mumble,
tumbling down on paper.
What is worse – they now call themselves verse!
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Santosh Bakaya
Picture Nick Victor
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