Stop in your steps.
Cool your jets and park it here,
rest a spell before you spill your lunch
in a shimmering, spewing spray.
It is hard that your yard is blocks away
and quite absurd that you curb your urge
to purge. No wonder your stomach thunders;
your status put asunder. Turn the page.
© Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2013
Written for The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #112