The stump of a tooth was tethered to stars.
At five till midnight three men puffed cigars.
One of them lathered his whiskery chin,
Using a brush soaked in whisky and gin.
One plowed through the soil, one raised a harpoon,
Hurling it carefully right at the moon.
The moon with a sigh crashed into the sea;
Monstrous waves followed and splintered the quay.
Once he’d accomplished this feat of great skill,
The harpooner bragged of making a kill,
A kill so complete the moon shines no more,
Except when wild women dance on the shore.
More The Whirligig #301
More Writers’ Pantry #48 at Poets and Storytellers United
Posted on January 17, 2021, in light verse, Poets & Storytellers United, Rhyming poetry, Sunday's Whirligig and tagged five, harpoon, lathered, midnight, once, plow, shivered, soil, star, stump, tethered, tooth. Bookmark the permalink. 15 Comments.