You would wait until it had dropped
From the poet’s hand before seizing
Upon the evidence.
Then it’s hot and reeks of burned powder :
This poem’s been loaded and fired
To kill a foe and a lover woe
In a rascal’s embrace.
Fingerprints are mine,
Rhymes – absence thereof –
They are mine.
Its tag far exceeds the usual
Exchange rate : for some, a few words
Will summon a thousand pictures.
Image credit : the Daily Banter
Frédéric Benqué 