Twittering smitters
done tapped out
onto my tarmac
while I had
the marbles cooling
and the pink daffodils
yearning for something
like the Sun (though
the Moon would
have to suffice).
They’re just sitting there
like a bunch of lawn
ornaments, like I’m supposed
to gawp at them and guffaw
in awe. You can forget it,
I won’t even
let them know
that I know
they’re here.
Attention hogs.
WHARVED 