Dodge Ball

It’s Day One of NaPoWriMo!*

Today’s prompt: “write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances.

My offering:

Dodge Ball

An odd game, dodge ball.
I learned to play as a child,
in a windowless, cramped gymnasium
that smelled inexplicably like old wet dogs and
burnt rubber.

Unless I missed the finer nuances,
the gist of the game is hit or be hit.
Two teams at opposite ends of the court race to the center line
to acquire as many weapons — er, bouncy balls – as they can,
return to their respective territories.
then lob their missiles indiscriminately at one another.

You try to get out of the way or, if you can,
catch a missile and shoot it back at the enemy team.
Once hit by a ball, you’re “out”
and spend the remainder of the game
on the sidelines.

When all of one team’s players are “out,”
the other team wins.

I have learned, over time, that
the real way to win at dodge ball is to choose
not to play anymore.


*National Poetry Writing Month, Day One

vortex

You are the funnel circling the bathtub drain.
You gurgle incomprehensible complaints and accusations.
You suck vacuously at lavender scented air,
all the while choking back the bile of sewer sludge
that tickles your throat.

Your vortex pulls in stinky sock lint –
flushed out of hiding from between unsuspecting toes,
clumps of sloughed off hair and slimy scum.
Lots and lots of scum.

I watch and silently will the tub to drain faster
so as to leave as little residue as possible
once you are gone.
And for the umpteenth time, I wonder how it is
you ever got elected to office.


dVerse Challenge: Meet the Bar — Metaphorically Speaking