3 Digit Minimum

She descended the

pent house

by stare…

revolving stare,

though the elevator definitely hit the top floor–

Pit stopping in


Pullman kitchen

for the best blade

(in the drawer, but settled for church key)

to whittle Lorna Doones—

dreamin’ of Poe, because hey!

(close enough)

the maiden was one sharp cookie—



and party subs

(less yellow, and brash was the vessel)

for intended

Pick Nick

–long on sandwiches

checked cloth,

and trouser pockets stuffed with

cheat sheets

(crib notes in change)

on account’a—woah!

that fella wore him some smart-ass pants

–pretty much exclusively


to North

via South

(at rush hour)


They lacked common sense.

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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