All About Short Poems
by Duane Ackerson
This One
Is like "Laura",
a face passing quickly
in a train window,
a whole string of possibilities
trailing behind.
This One Is Obsolete
I tried to trade it in
for the latest model.
The dealer offered me a new
one
at cost plus the usual markup
and said he'd take the old one off my hands
at no charge.
He said he wouldn't even deduct
for the ink stains
on the upholstery
or the poem's tendency to shake
once in motion,
provided it was able to start up at all.
I handed him the key
and took off as fast as I was able.
What A Job,
trying to get the drift
of all this snow,
scattering crumbs
that are just as quickly picked up
by a hungry wind
or eaten by the cold.
Trolling for the Right Words
Small poem,
asked to do so much,
how long can you carry my ingratitude
on your back?
My Last Short Poem, or Ars Brevis
The pen sinks deeper into the
paper,
pulling my hand,
then the rest of me,
along.
Just time to write
so long.
Well, Next to Last
Compress, Compress!
Can I get this small enough
to make my mark
on an atom?
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