A Slippery Tongue
The lock chain was broken
all minutes flew away
in hysteric flurry.
A runner sent to look for them
lost all idea of time,
hard reality hit him in the back
(good his hour glass survived)
until he dropped in the grass,
his pants turning unwashable green.
The slippery tongue of the bell
dispelled shock to scanty listeners –
the village was dispopulated.
A boy with just one shoe
sat calmly in front of the late cinema screen
holding a shard in his hands.
Our broken lock chain,
which helped the minutes go away,
and then the years, then today.
(c) Mariya Koleva, 2017
This poem was written for Brenda’s Wordle prompt #330. Prompt there are used to bring extra pleasure, because of the variety of courses they can take.