He ran out of ideas
so declared this poem his last.
He wrote it standing in a park
watching the geese
strut across the path
telling dogs to get out of the way.
A jogger bends his run
so unnaturally wide of them
that he almost crashes into a tree.
He picks up his pace and escapes.
The geese laugh
and scream at the retiring poet
how they bet he wishes
he had the power to make anything
do what he wanted.

Carl Burkitt 2024