Saturday April 23rd, 2016

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: the rush.

Worked from 8:45 to 11:15 this morning. Bakery opened at 9. By the time I left all the bread was sold, along with all the croissants, butter tarts, ciabatta buns and loaves, baguettes, and cinnamon buns. Which left the focaccia and various prepared things the bakery sells for other people (honey, smoked meats, cheeses... other things I can't remember right now).

Needless to say, when I walked out all I had to say was My work here is done.

Because I obviously had everything to do with how well things went...

Anyway. Looking forward to having a few days to get things done around the house and farm before I'm back in there on Wednesday morning.


The floodgates have opened,
They're coming full force.
Trust yourself, stand tall, and
Scream until you're hoarse...


Greg said...

I'm sure the sale of breaded goods was all because people wanted to pop in and ask how Miles was doing and were too polite to leave without buying something too :)
I have no idea what your poem is talking about today, but I like the overall image and the way it sounds when I read it. Great work!

The rush
'More speed, less haste' was her motto
'With enough thrust even pigs may fly' was his.
As she ran around, cleaning up their grotto,
Exploding pigs filled it with pink mist.

Marc said...

Greg - oh, they could ask all they wanted, but I wasn't going to answer unless they purchased at least two loaves... :P

I'm not sure either right now. I think maybe the oncoming rush of an enemy attack? I dunno.

That... is quite the scene you've depicted for us. Goodness me. Poor pigs! And poor cleaner as well, I suppose.