He arrives at ten past the hour,
other good fellows bow heads and
sneak peaks at the man who's
streaked jeans emit a odor of offense.
Slice of meet and greet served, thick paws
stained and bruised handshakes.
Eyes squint smiles, lips mumble names.
Salutation games. Sit, listen, hope
to have the heart quicken.
Swift sermon, he missed the good
music. The band will drum up some
more for dad and clan to
worship the Maker with dirty hands.
So glad to have this contribution to the Father's Day writing project at High Calling Blogs, Nichole. I've saved the link--look for it on Wednesday!
ReplyDeleteThere is a lot of interesting internal rhyme here, Nichole. I especially like the sound play of sneak peaks, streaked jeans, and slice of meet.
ReplyDelete