Going withershins

Wracked with grief

over yesterday’s brouhaha,

instead of

glazing at the ceiling,

I feathered my devil

and clawed out

a tentacle,

dipping it into

that seemingly innocent tea

you made for me.

Aha! Gotcha!

You, piece of pestilence,

scurrilous deficit,

scurrying around, sneaking

poisons into brews,

your engines whirring

with devious deviance

Going withershins,

holy horseshoe be dammed,

neither of us on course

or off this tandem bicycle,

in constant competition

to be the only one

who is right. Always right.


wriiten for MindLoveMisery’s wordle#189

3 thoughts on “Going withershins

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