The night I turned sixty-two
I dreamed of squirrels and speeches.
Squirrels escaping attic windows
their kits following and flying.
Acceptance speeches in designer gowns
not sure of the venue.
The night I turned sixty-two
I dreamed of taxis and water.
Mid-speech taxi ride
Will Smith was the driver
Will Smith dove the taxi into a river
drenching the designer gown.
The night I turned sixty-two
I dreamed of Will Smith’s daughter
Will Smith knew I had some money
to take care of the ride and gown
But he offered to give me his daughter’s piggy bank
in case I didn’t have enough cash.
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Note: I wrote this the morning after the dream and thought I would save it for next month because the topic fit. This morning I looked at it again and realized that I wrote it in a poetry format (not that I didn’t realize that when writing, only when I was deciding when to post it did the format slip my mind) so I offer it during poetry month instead.
Cedar Waxwing's 365 