Written for:  The Twiglets #133 – “rolling in it”

They knew her when–
old neighborhood
friends. Tenements
lined the block,
every need for
a lock on your door.
People on her street
were poor. Now,
old friends and neighbors
wonder how she is doing. They
have not seen her for
years. Probably won’t see
her again, they agree,
now that she’s rolling
in dough.

On a hot day,
my dog’s tongue hangs
out on our walk.
He seeks out shade,
finds a dewy patch
of grass. He rolls
on his back, feet
in the air, until
I manage to coax
him into a standing

A man who loved to roll in the snow
kept it up while winds began to blow.
Tree trunks disappeared
as did the man’s beard.
Friends who rescued him said, Ed, next time try rolling dough.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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4 Responses to rolling

  1. Jules says:

    There’s a few ways to be rolling in it isn’t there.
    Some ways are easier… I think I’d like dough and baking. 😉

    I’ve read about some ‘Stars’ that remembered where they started – most don’t.
    Your second reminded me of ‘you can lead a horse to water but can’t make him drink 🙂
    Fun Limerick.


  2. Misky says:

    Haaarrr!! Fab limerick!


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