Poetry Hit

Who knew poetry was a coping mechanism for the morning commute?

Today on the subway I felt like the water hyacinth from The Way of the Water Hyacinth by Zawgee:

Falling but not felled
By flotsam, twigs, leaves
She ducks, bobs and weaves.

I realized that made my fellow subway commuters the ducks in this scenario, which cheered me up immensely:

Ducks, ducks by the score
Jetting, quacking and more

Ducks are ridiculous, and there’s nothing like ridicule to diffuse some morning rage.

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