It is hot.
a young man, affected and
slightly drunk,
is playing a conga drum in the heat.
I should shoot you right now,
says the captain of the boat.
What if you cause a fire playing that conga drum
on the deck in the hot sun?
Firemen swim out to the boat.
They climb nets
in time to the conga drum being played in the heat
by a tuna fish disguised as an actor.
I am a tuna fish, says the affected young man.
I should shoot you right now, says the captain of the boat.
It is hot on deck in the sun.
The firemen turn into seahorses wearing suspenders made from sugar cane.
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for Sunday Muse #193.
What a trip!! Only you ~~~~
ReplyDeleteSounds like a dream I had once. You have such an amazing creative mind Shay! It makes your poetry a delight to read! I love it!!
ReplyDeleteMost unusual Shay, most intriguing, the percussive rhythm of taut hides have strange affects.
ReplyDeleteThis chimes very well with the image, but instead of a two dimensional sterility, it's filled with a fanciful lushness, teeming with surprising shapes and forms that lend it a surreal vitality, not to mention hilarity. It definitely marches to the beat of its own bongos. Your poetry never disappoints, Shay.
ReplyDeleteplay on, tuna man.
ReplyDeleteTwo words: heat stroke. lol
ReplyDeleteFun poem, Shay.