The radio turned on by itself.
It played a Cubs-Mets game from nineteen-sixty-nine.
The mirror turned black.
It chose to absorb light rather than reflect it.
My clothes rained
when I wore them outside under the sun.
Gold rings are bad in Fairy Tales
so I refused to give one to my beloved at our wedding.
A towhee perched above our sleep
caught our dreams like moths.
A flicker pecked ear-worms
out of my drummed head.
In a curiosity shop we came upon
a crucifix pencil.
To write a poem the Christ’s head bobbed
back and forth with google-eyes.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney