Slide.

In my dream the other night,
I tried to write poem to you

or maybe it was about you,

to tell you that I knew how it was all going to end.

It started as I was talking in my sleep, and woke you up.
I knew what I wanted to ask,
but every....word...evaporated.

I fell off,
back into sleep,
trying to figure out the precise words to tell you
in the morning.

I thought I'd write a poem.

I noticed,
in my dream,
when was I was trying so hard
to choose the precise words,
the "T" in turbine kept transforming into a playground Slide.

A picture of a Slide,
a photo of a Slide,
a cardboard cut out of a Slide.















I really don't write poetry, I've discovered.
Being precise doesn't stand much of a chance when a Slide is right there.