Song of the Earworm Though the jukebox effuses its glow through glass beads, this man never chooses the music he needs. Believing delight resides in a dream, he peers through the night till memories gleam. If I am the song that sticks in his head and strings him along on silvery thread, please pour him some water. Block out the moon. Hand him a quarter to pick a new tune.
Humpty Dumpty Redux I know, although I’ve tried to balance extra well: a whole yolk cannot be both inside and outside of the shell that just broke. Its peril is there along the edge. Division neither clean nor sterile, it slips over the ledge and makes a messy scene.
Claudia Gary lives near Washington DC and teaches workshops on Villanelle, Sonnet, Natural Meter, Poetry vs. Trauma, etc., at The Writer’s Center (writer.org), currently via Zoom. Her poems are internationally published and anthologized; she has been a semifinalist for the Anthony Hecht Prize (Waywiser) and received Honorable Mention in the 2021 Able Muse book contest. She has chaired panels at the West Chester University (Pa.) and the Robert Frost Farm poetry conferences. Author of Humor Me (2006) and several chapbooks, most recently Genetic Revisionism (2019), she is also a health science writer, visual artist, and composer of tonal chamber music and art songs. For more information, see pw.org/content/claudia_gary and follow her on Twitter at @claudiagary.