by Carole Johnston
my inner poet
stomps up the coffee house
stairs – ten minutes late
she’s Cindi Sunshine
Hologram Girl all my
superheroes wearing
jeans
combat boots
Lennon glasses
a thousand emerald eyes
she thumps on my
table stares deep
and demands in her
Jersey Girl voice
“so what am I now
your therapist?
you gotta focus
that kaleidoscope brain of
yours – too scattered
too much word-shine”
she boogies down
the stairs
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Sounds understandably any and happy at the same time.