Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Blueberry Bickford

Blueberry Bickford and all of his friends,
Are coming on Sunday, to girate their fins.
Just once each year, when sunlight is new,
When rosebuds are cherry, and spaces are few
The fishes come down from Gluffbergle Glen,
To bathe in our shallows, and frustrate our chins
 By shooting us square in the jaw with their fins,
A specialized goo that they shoot when they swim.
This goo means they're joyful and want to pretend
 That they are brand new for a day when they grin.
They love it down here, where they can be free,
Of soggy muck Wasters and Berlinger fleas.
And Blueberry Bickford, he loves it here too.
 He washes the saddle that carries his tools.
The ones that he uses to fix all our pipes,
Our underground system that connects our town,
With all other fishes the whole world around.
He fixes them in and he fixes them out.
The rust he dissolves with a fuel from his snout.
And when he comes up from his work he will see,
That we have just planned a grand grateful party.
For all of the fish friends from Gluffbergle Glen.
Who come down each year for a swim in our pen.

The above artwork that inspired this poem was by Michigan Artist Shawn Dubois. Dubois uses mosaic art and handmade mixed media to create works that give a primative, tribal impression. You can see more of his work and contact him at:www.shawndubois.etsy.com

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