A magpie drew wrinkles upon my face.
The wrinkles did not wash off.
The wrinkles transferred, of their own accord,
to the bowl of blueberries on the table.
When I ate the blueberries
the wrinkles returned to my face.
One of my wrinkles slipped off my face
and sent me to a different time and place.
In my new time and place, which was old time,
I made a speech from a six foot diameter oak stump
while supporting the Republican ticket in eighteen-fifty-nine.
Another wrinkle slinked off my face with my knowing
and gave the horizon line a coffee break.
Upon finishing my speech, a woman, gustily applauding,
rushed forward and kissed another wrinkle off my cheek.
The wrinkle fell off her lips believing she was too young for wrinkles
and unintentionally tripped a slave owning Democrat,
who fell face first into the rich Maryland mud.
Several more wrinkles leap from my face
to form a chain with manacles securing the man’s ankles.
My next to last wrinkle formed a mental lock pick
to free the minds of the slaves attending the affluent.
My last wrinkle bent the time line for me
to return to my home and the portrait of me
the magpie drew upon my window
while I was not occupying my designated place.
copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney