Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow, shhh….
For years now, I’ve had no one in the cube across from me, no one looking over my shoulder, thus enabling me to blog and check blogs with abandon…except, of course, when I hear footsteps in the hallway, then I speedy-quick click on some work project or other and look busy.
Today, a co-worker moved into the empty cube. He’s nice enough, and cool and all, but I’m not 100% sure he isn’t a spy. So I need to be careful about when and how I blog. Bleah.
Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow…ah, there’s the rub. I don’t have one. My brain is a thousand pieces of fluff held together by synaptic goo. Okay. Off the cuff. In light of yesterday’s nationwide celebration of us kicking King George’s British ass several hundred years ago, and the habit we have of touching match to incendiary devices to celebrate that auspicious time, let’s make the Poetry Friday WORD for tomorrow…whatever that brings to mind. Fireworks…or explosion…or sparkler…cherry bomb…bottle rocket…whatever lights your fuse and makes you go BOOM.