For Lynn S.
It began with rhyme
and you thought you knew
where this was headed
the regularity of it
the rhythm a comfort.
Then the rhyme
disappeared, leaving you dangling
wanting the familiar
wishing for the expected.
That was the point
or part of it—that life is like that
sometimes, a rug pulled from under—
and poetry only reflection
…or reaction.
Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010
From Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine