July 19, 2023
441
by Russ Hall
Forty-seven pogo sticks
Showed up by error at the nursing home.
Retired duffs and greying dames
Cast off their walkers; one
Rose up from a steel wheelchair.
“Oh, brittle bones, we do not care.”
They mounted and began to hop,
Up and down, up and down
In a growing group, a bold parade,
Like kangaroos, they formed and
Headed up the road, while
Attending aides gave chase,
Were left behind the hopping mob
Of Q-tip hairdos bobbing in the breeze,
As they hopped and hopped their way
Toward the brightest ever setting sun.
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