The Poet

Whose laptop is that? I think I know.
Its owner’s not so happy though.
For on it he works like a drone
Getting that Carpal Tunnel Thingydrome

The laptop bounces on his knees
Fingers clacketing on the keys
He gives it such a thorough shake
He laughs until his belly aches

Is he writing an adventure?
Or suffering from advanced dementia?
No wonder those around him look
For laptops never should be shook

Chided as a loud contrarian
He’s scolded by the bold librarian
She won’t endure his poppycock
He blushes claiming writer’s block

rdfindlay copyright 2019


In the drive thru line at Starbucks

a ladybug landed on my windshield

While I waited for my macchiato she walked slowly across my window

forcing her tiny legs through the condensation

As I drove away she clung to the smooth glass

even as the rushing air swept away

the droplets of water around her

Miles later I parked at my office

and still she held tight.

I left her there

Returning moments later

remembering some forgotten thing

I found her motionless drenched in dew

Is she even alive I thought

I extended a finger and gave her a nudge

Tumbling down the windshield

she came to rest on the wiper-blade, motionless

My heart sank

Then she open her shell and was carried away on tiny wings.

rdfindlay copyright 2019