The Doggerel Days of Summer

Oft on a still summer evening
I take my doggerel
for a long, long walk

looking for rhymes
in all the wrong places.

I bring with me
a small, beige, plastic bag.
When I finish the poem I’m composing
I place the poem in the plastic bag
and deposit the bag
in a trash can deep in the forest

a trash can known to all the local poets
a trash can where moon always rhymes with June
a trash can where clouds
are as fluffy as mashed potatoes.

where the evening sun is a red ball

that dies in the western sky.

Taking part in Open Link over at OpenLinkNight #414 | dVerse