There is a man
Strolling along the pavement.
He smiles at you.
Do you hear his walking stick meeting the stones?
He touches his hat
It is old and made of felt
With a feather so long it tickles your nose.
Can you smell the dust?
He makes his hat disappear
In a puff of smoke
Revealing yellow curls underneath
Can you taste the burnt air?
It seems you were tricked;
The air is clear
And the man has no walking stick as he continues on his way,
But he tips his top hat at you as he leaves your brain.
rebecca2000
/ February 12, 2014Very creative. I really like this piece.
W. R. Woolf
/ February 12, 2014Thank you.
It’s actually an old idea (several years old), but I rewrote it. I think it’s much better now.