A Closing Comment as National Poetry Month Comes to Conclusion:

Poetry is music set to words.

Huzzah for words and music!

(That life-long smoker)

That life-long smoker
and his cigarette look like
twins -- thin and ashen.

Happy Record Store Day!

The Dancing Queen

She taught us what it meant to
be married to melody -- singing
and dancing across the linoleum
floor, sometimes lip-syncing and
sometimes belting out the lines
with gusto. My sisters and I sang
into hairbrushes with a sparkle in
our eyes, while the vinyl spun
'round and Mom reigned as queen
of the dining room dance floor.

Hacker

He clears his throat
out of habit
and sheer desperation.

Announcing his arrival,
he uses his hacking cough,
however subconsciously,
to solicit attention,
leaving no doubt
that he is in the vicinity.

The aural assault
begs a comment, question,
some sort of human interaction.
"Bless you."
"Are you okay?"
"Yikes!  You scared me."

The shocking, deafening blast
serves as his calling card,
ensuring that, however lonely,
he will not be forgotten,
at least not yet.