My final poem for Poetry Month. A tribute to people doing important, unacknowledged work.
Giants are the smallest men
As measured by scales of Job.
With poison scorn and fountain pens
They slash and jab to rule the globe.
In glass towers they strut and spit.
The height a craved collusion.
Fragility keeps them separate
In fantastical delusion.
For city smog mugs their glass
Dying skin cells dust book spines
Ink-stained downsizings fill the trash
And stains streak their ample Calvin Kleins.
The humble arrive and quietly hedge
Their mops, dusters and garbage bins
Around the small mighty who can't acknowledge
That cleaners are our greatest ones.
For 6 minutes, write lines of dialogue. The first letter of each new line must be the next letter in the alphabet, A to Z.
Here is my result. Keep in mind . . . I only had 6 minutes so, yeah, it’s a little crazy. And I didn’t get all the way through the alphabet the first go-round. I got as far as O. All the letters after that I completed in a subsequent 6-minute time allotment.
An elephant can't fit through there.
Butt's too big.
Can we push?
Don't think that'll help.
Elephant weighs eight tons.
For F*&!'s sake.
Get me a lever.
How about an axe?
In case of emergency, break ass?
Joker, ha ha.
Look behind the mandrill's cage.
Manny the Masturbator?
Notice how he drools when you walk by?
Oh no, he prefers blondes.
Perhaps everyone does, even the elephant.
Quite annoying, that is.
Ridiculous, like this situation.
Suppose we go around?
Through the zebra's field.
Unbelievable how you used the Z word before the end.
Verily, I say onto you ... no worries.
X was the real problem, because there's another word for Z.
Yes, this place is a real ...