Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
I'm posting this early for a change. I have a day off today, so that means I have a lot to do (ah, midlife). Wednesday's pre-Halloween open mic was...deterred slightly due to rain and other things going on with everyone. It was just me and James Van Looy. Thanks to his presence, I was able to put something together. I wrote myself into the open mic for the first time in a while. I started this week's poem basing it on last week's Crouton poem (which I wrote even though I wasn't there and everyone else was, go figure) and went from there. Thanks for reading.
The Corralled
Even the blackbirds
won't pick this pie chart.
A million white lone rangers
full on Roy Rogers takeout
give their white hats a tug
and cry for minority status.
The earth trumps them with rain
to teach them true sadness.
The men mask up once more,
anonymous marauders again
in self-imposed exile, seeking
their own just-them in justice.
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| See? It's easy to put yourself in the number one spot. |
Special thanks to James Van Looy.
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