Doo-Dad.

~

I finished all my weeding chores

and read three or four poems

by Billy Collins.

~

Then I decided to write one myself.

But some kid down the street

started blowing a doo-dad horn.

~

I was disrupted into thinking

about the kid and his horn.

And why do I think he’s a he

and not a she?

~

Except that I don’t picture well

little girls blowing on doo-dad horns.

Little girls, I should think,

~

have better things to do.

And then the noise abruptly stopped.

And I began to wonder why.

~

Was it something I was thinking?

~

So, I never got to write that poem,

which I so desperately needed.

Instead, I just continued to ponder

on that doo-dad horn.

.

.

.

©Marvin Loyd Welborn 2011

.

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