Typo

The day creates a maze to navigate.
Some people are not good at determining direction.
Others not good at left turns.
A few with twine, learn their ball is not big enough.

After hundreds of wrong turns
progressively produce more and more cuss words
I swear off cussing and lie down for a nap
in the muddle of the path.

My muddle of the path
blocks other maze walkers.
They collect about me in small talk
like my prone body is a water cooler.

I wake up and we take the first few
clumsy steps toward helping each other out.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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