Note: this is a poem I posted before. As I sift through a couple years worth of files, I am noticing how many poems have *pOOf* disappeared here, and I heartily recommend all fellow bloggers keep multiple copies of their work–as I myself do.

a barker at market

marketing parkas

told me to park it

beneath his marquee…

Remarking my burqa

was yesterday’s jerkin

and hurtin’ for certain

the way I’m perceived…

Shaking out tunic

in shaking down movement

he barked that most sheiks

are taken with frayed

–fringes and edges

as long as alleged

unraveling hems

are finest of suede…

Then trading my jacket

in bartering racket

before I could counter

my coat was replaced,

by fast talking honcho

hawking pseudo-suede ponchos

to passing by pawns

showing poor fashion taste.

©Karen Robiscoe

you can invite God to dinner

>don’t be shy<

you really can!

just jump over to the moon

& moon jack–

it (when no one’s walking, naturally)

grabbing a subsequent

& nearby wormhole

to the Northside

…

that’d be upper North, you know

to drop an

rsVP

before re-entering the atmosphere on the quick

(bring ice cubes for this)

but be sure to Dipper a Big

ole ladle

of marinated night en route

(from the firmament section of your Cosmos)

then ditch the Soup, to

swirl in

enough jet streams

for spaghettification for 2

(go ahead & add x’try

’cause you never know)

topping the lot of that

with the to-go

mOOn

(best when its full)

then find a mesa

check your fascia

& add

a handful of stars

(to garnish)

flicking away any

residual flys

(on the DL)

©Karen Robiscoe