Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  Ruby-Crowned Kinglet Not a king, a kinglet. A prince, perhaps. Tiny, stubby, olive green. For royal robes, quite muted. But crowned with ruby, nevertheless. Though, they say, his scarlet blaze is often hidden. Not today, though. He must have combed his hair. After all, it is spring. Wants to look his best, While prowling for a princess.

  Whatizzit #2 It moans, it shrieks. It wails, it whistles. It groans, it grates. It roars, it rattles. It pops, it snorts. It thumps, it clunks. It clangs, it clanks. It buzzes, it booms. Whatizzit? Hint: It’s the big, silvery thing in the kitchen. Yes, it’s our new refrigerator, complaining. What? It doesn’t like the cold?

  A Wrack of Ribs Not a rack, the kind you eat, but a wrack - mine, broken. Six of them cracked in my back when I fell off the back of a truck. My diagnosis, “rib fractures without significant displacement.” Well, guess what, there was: From the truck to the ground, From whole to in-pieces, From conscious to unconscious, From comfort to pain, From a help to a hindrance, From sleeping in a bed to doing so in a chair,  From confidently agile to carefully hesitant, From active to sedentary for awhile, From productive as a poet to having the metaphors seemingly knocked out of my head. My ribs, I think, acted as shock absorbers, taking the brunt of the impact.  Though I was knocked cold, my wrack of wrecked ribs spared my head serious injury. Am I wracked and ruined.? No, I’ll be back!