John Joseph was seen near the twin towers
when last he spoke to the waiter.
Ratlike he walks; there is her ink
on his inept heart. The town’s newest thespian
was shaken; the weakest titan worn,
they let these jerks rejoin the war.
What’s a joker to think?
No network wrote their tales,
Joseph the janitor takes a slow sweep
and the rest join in his trek to the top.
He wasn’t the one to stop, shake, joke or jest.
This poet knelt in pain,
he was written to his knees.
There were no pleas spoken.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
Written to prompt for NaPoWriMo 2013 – Day 24: Words in words
Every word in this poem was culled from my name,
WALTER JOSEPH WOJTANIK