When Words Come Out to Play
by De Jackson
they bump and grind and sway,
find each other in the dark,
make sparks and new sparkled
syllables.
they dance an iambic cha-cha-cha
or swing or swagger,
stagger up to the space bar
for another shot of rum
-bled phrase.
their days are filled with spin,
moon-milled whim
and the frothy-follow-flow
of the sea. They’re free to
hy
-phen
-ate
as they please, catch a breeze
to some sillier shore.
Watch ’em jingle, jangle, wrangle
each other into jaunty jigs,
two-step schlep their backpacks
full of giggles to the floor.
Leave ’em to their own recognizance
and they can tumble, tickle
peanut-butter-brickle
even the most frostbitten
tongue-tied
soul.
De Jackson: In another life, De Jackson might have been a gypsy, or a pirate. In this one, she’s a parent of a teen and a tween, and a published poet who’s been paid in garbanzo beans, author copies, and one time, a whole dollar. De plays with words daily at WhimsyGizmo.wordpress.com.