Poems & Essays

30 Dec

Middle Kid

General/Column No Response

A gully washer, the neighbor
said, a real gully washer.

The street was a river of broken
 branches and orphaned shoes. 

Sheltering on the porch I watched
the plights of three lively logs 
bobbing along the curb.

The biggest surged headfirst into a sewer.
The little one curled off into a dead-ended eddy.

The middle one dove under and rose 
to the top, each time losing headway 
and a little more bark.

I got to my feet, cheering it on,
running to keep up with the feisty fighter, 
shouting, be careful, hang on, watch out,
please survive. 

As a teacher/administrator Bett Willett worked with students from grade two through graduate school at one time or another. She has a BA and two MAs.  She has two grown children and lives with three cats, one of whom thinks she is a dog, and as Bett is never quite sure who she is either, they get along great. She has written blogs and newsletters. Bett received first place and honorable mention for poetry submissions and is published in The Poeming Pigeon and the Naugatuck River Review.

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