My fingers black and blue,
flipping pages, scanning sections,
trying to hide these…corrections.
Hearting your headlines,
rereading a line, chuckling time,
is flirting with a person’s print a crime?
Your column is bad, bad news,
I’m breaking publication rules
searching for a journalistic muse.
You’ve captioned my mind.
I can be your byline on the side,
put me in your classifieds.
I’ve got some bad, bad news,
I’m a stringer with one ear;
there’s no single copies here.
Flirting with your features,
examining these editorial views.
I’ve got some bad, bad news,
I’m now subscribed to you.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
Oh, no, has your cage been rattled?
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No, I liked this song and decided it was time to write a poem inspired by it. The “Bad News” was too clever a pun to pass up.
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love the metaphor and how you persistently pursue its possibilities !!
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Thanks, John. I like to ride my comets, even when they might crash into something.
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🙂 🙂 that’s brilliant, Karen — and so you should: you ride those comets so well !!!!!!
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Did they teach you how to be charmer in school because you have much more skills than most? 😊
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just the school of hard knocks 🙂
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Always wanted to go to that one. Didn’t get in. 😂
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you were lucky 🙂
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Indeed; I am a lucky girl.
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Brilliant! ❤
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Thanks, Tricia. It was a fun write.
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Excellent (again)!🙂
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This is a new one. I liked the idea of falling in love with someone’s writing. Thank you, kindly.
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🙂
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