Road Bumps

My poems tend to pidgin style,

in English lingo, but curtailed,

for as compacting wordy terms,

it’s apt for gaps. When definite,

assume the reader telegrams,

inserts the tetragrammaton,

the word unspoken, but known there,

a gap in line, but owned by them,

or to be frank, the article.

As in France, wanting bread, I said

une pain s’il vous plait; she made plain,

with quiver lip, this tourist pain,

un pain, as if a crime, but knew,

and took my cash, baguette in hand.

So play along and act your part,

as hear the poser, apron tied,

and give reply, whatever tide.

Why should the stage work entertain,

without response from that fourth wall -

for readership, a talking point,

who adds what’s missing, as reviews?

Some haiku with a broader brush,

the potholes meant to slow your drive,

or road bumps to frustrate the rush,

and workmen from a stripy tent

who dig, survey, stop work for tea.

The choice is yours, no foreman here -

keep digging, drinking, or clock off.