ManicDDaily

Fresh Flesh of Vowels

“A” was ample
as a calf, the underbelly
of a leg, something that in a crazy mood you’d lick
preceded or followed
by chocolate.

“E” for the fear that wheezed
through bagpipe lungs, squeezed dustily
under a bed, eyes spidering rafters
that were actually just mattress slats
sagging.

“I” for you-know-who: King I, or Queen Little i–
for a queen must have little fingers that crook
around a tea cup, only not the queen who licks
the calf, the underbelly of the leg before
or after chocolate,
who is allowed a big I, a capital I
with rafters both at top
and bottom.

“O” for oh-oh–the Queen has been seen and King I is not
so happy–

Oh (also) for “U,” who better run,
as in, it will do no good
to slip under a bed
in such circumstances.

And sometimes “Y”
is what you must ask yourself when, in exile,
you crook your little finger
and no one comes–not the Queen, not the King, not excitement, not even
a terribly good cup of tea,
because they just don’t do tea well
where you are exiled, though the chocolate
could be worse.

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A rather silly drafty little poem based on the phrase “the flesh of vowels” as my own prompt.  I wrote another more serious one on the same prompt that I may post in the next day or so.  (I don’t think of the poems as linked particularly so will not burden you with two!)   The picture is mine–all rights reserved.   I may link to Real Toads open platform.