Banjo’s Stock Whips

Once upon a time
(at the formal table
after grace and roast lamb)
your stewed plums
with ice cream:
tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor...
what would I be?

A boardwalk of years
and I’m guessing still.

Like those dust mites 
riding sun slabs
(diagonal highways
lighting up the 
dim old big shed),
I stayed out of the dark
somersaulting always
in the flaxen warmth
of a safe home.

On our driveway
puddles of blue sky
tantamount to fairy-tales
but instead
I jumped the cracks
always pretending 
I was avoiding crocodiles.

We all live 
in the netherflick
of our decisions
like the echoes
of Banjo's stock-whips
we're rounded up 
into the yards 
we built ourselves.

Written for Miz Quickly’s Oct 29 Prompt “Once Upon a Time”

9 thoughts on “Banjo’s Stock Whips

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