Secrets 6 Poem by Morgan Michaels

Of this type, the secret thst currently burns in my brain-
ah, drat,
which I shall guard fast,
telling not even Jane,
that bat-eared, tympanum of secrets
who is on perfectly good terms with the parties involved.
After all, I, too, change my socks daily;
for the sake of my investments, I shall not;
for the sake of my unborn children, I shall not;
for fear of the deese, I shall not;
as the festoon of red lights ahead blinks green
and the bus jerks into gear, I
shall not.