A Poem for Mischief
Waddle waddle from the lake.
What is that I see?
A gardener, his garden, and his rake.
Oh, what fun this will be.
Turn on the sprinkler to make him wet.
Snatch his keys when he cannot look.
I honk with delight when his anger is set.
So much fun, perhaps I should write a book?
Moving on to the street.
More people in my playground of fun.
I’ll scare the boy and make him trip over his feet.
I honk at his heels to see him run.
The shopkeeper bats at me with her broom.
She won’t escape my goose punishment.
Does a garage count as a room?
She’ll have to let me know inside her confinement.
Two neighbors enjoying their day.
Could there be something between them?
The stolen vase that gets broken asks for pay.
But the cut rose evens it out to “okay.”
Are slippers something someone will miss?
Thoughts I have while swimming in a pond.
Along with, “will those two ever kiss?”
And, “why does she think string makes a good bond?”
A restaurant guarded by a burly man.
A box that hides my wings and beak.
It’s clear he could not have had a plan.
I destroy and make sinks and barrels leak.
Hello old man and your harmonica.
So, you like to play darts while in a rut?
Perhaps I should get that flower from Veronica.
So that you feel better about falling on your butt.
A tiny town like with tiny people.
I’ll make the tower crumble beneath my feet.
To take the bell away from the steeple.
I honk with delight, it’s a treat.
My bell rings and rings as I run.
The townspeople do not like to hear it, I think.
I can outrun all of them in this midday sun.
All so I can plunge this bell into the drink.
It’s good to be a goose.
Especially when I am free to be loose.
