Chilled to the bone,
Houdini searches for a break,
for whatever it takes
for this illusion to mesmerize,
he tries. His eyes are blinded,
he is lucky if he can find it.
Beneath the ice he founders,
listening for sound of the astounded
rubes. He’d much prefer cubes
thrilling him that river water chilling him.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019
Written for The Twiglets #115: Beneath The Ice