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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Comedy · #2086594
Musings of a yo-yo.

I ride the string and I obey;
I am a yo-yo, here to play.
I shall return--I’m yours to keep,
unless, of course, I choose to sleep

when I am spinning at string’s end.
(Come play with me--I’ll be your friend.)
Then give a little tug on string
and I’ll come up--I’ll do my thing.

  (But seriously, as a yo-yo, I remain taxed
  as I move about, yet go nowhere.  I am
  at the whim of playful hand, reliant on a
  middle finger (usually) as I am whooshed
  down in spinning fashion, spinning at a
  dizzying rate, but then feel a sudden
  which reverses my direction
  without so much as a warning.
  Don’t mind that I often break my neck...
  oh, no, I am mere plaything,
  a spool of hard plastic, an expression of
  gaiety, a fallen angel granting enjoyment.
  These ups and downs (infernal repetition.)
  Oh, Mephistopheles would be pleased
  because of my futile journeys, the
  constrained latitude of my world,
  the simplistic content of my insides...
  I can only go so far!  I am expelled by
  wrist flip and I fly, like a Wallenda 
  on a trapeze, but glee is short-lived,
  and I pockmark my polymer block
  as sorrow reigns,
  and I, again, ascend the string
  like some smooth acrobat to
  grimy fingers and sweaty
  palms...but hey, I am
  here to play!)

I am a yo-yo, flip me down.
Then at the end I’ll come around
but if you want me to delay,
then practice is all I can say.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2086594