a winning metaphor
dribbling, otherwise known
as iambic pentameter,
comes just before
the swoosh of onomatopoeia,
the arc and dunk must be simile,
and basketball, no doubt,
is poetry.
The day I flew out to visit my daughter
an eagle dropped in for one of my ducks;
I didn't sleep for two days running
the terrible scene my husband described
again and again through my head,
but then duck sausages were the grand-opening
special at the new butcher shop, so I took four
back to my daughter and cooked them for dinner;
the day after that, compliments of the chef at a fledging
restaurant featuring New American cuisine,
duck neck croquettes served on very small but very beautiful plates;
when I told my husband about the culinary adventures
I was sharing with our daughter, he said he thought
it was too soon, he said he might start to cry,
so I said no, please don't,
but I should have said yes, please do,
because nothing, not even grief, should ever be wasted.
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