Spin Cycle Thoughts

She wasn't dainty,
like a bird.
Possibly hollowed,
and absurd.

Twas no man out there
quite aligned with her.
No muscle-bound
white knight scouring
the Great Divide
searching for her soul.

No, no, nooo.

Surely not one as
spirited as she.

Drumming up uncertainty
in sure-footed fashion.
Loosening up the buckles,
to be wounded when they fasten.
Cooing at the moon
as though it mattered.
Grooming thick-boned feathers,
distant remnants in a bloodline
of Celtic madhatters.


To think so,
she would be remiss.
Mistaken, and a fool.

She wasn't dainty
like a bird.
Possibly hollowed,
and absurd.
Holding on to hope
that her creative soul
had a match,
in the wide blue yonder.

Twas an idea to ponder
while she folded lonely socks
and tucked her kids to bed.
An idea to set on spin cycle
in her not-so-dainty head.