Just before goodbye,/
at long last, I finally/
watched her dance with joy.
Or
… got to see her dance
or
but too late, she finally /
opened up and danced.
It’s ironic how,/
in the Great Basin, Christ’s church/
is full of judging.
Don’t ask me to come/
back if you don’t know where I’m/
joyfully going.
Fill is a middle-aged wordsmith who wasted his passion for words writing romance poetry to a too-busy, analytical wife and making up non-scensical, Sesame Street-type rhymes to amuse his now-grown children.
When divorce and an empty nest let him consider other options, he makes up a cheap Lucy Van Pelt-like sign, “The Improv Poet is IN!”, stands on street corners, and does poetic, usually iambic commentary on people passing by.