What is a poem, if not to artfully weave rhymes?
Is it a form for spontaneous random thoughts,
Loosely connected with a thread of a theme?
Resulting in a somewhat ratty coat of expression.
A coat politely fawned over by the empathetic.
A sort of Emperor's new clothes on stationary.
There! This could be one? Isn't it grand?
Should I cover up or display wares to the breeze?
Might this thread turn to Boardwalk treads,
As there be pleas for related opining works.
Could there be waxing nostalgic? Or unending droning,
Of the inherent liabilities due to people without brains.
Mother Nature seems more agitated and mightier than ever.
Odds are a rebuild won't last long at all.
Two and a half mill for a fleeting wistful sentiment
Which another Ian or Bob might squash before it begins.
How about an inland homeless shelter instead?
The old planks could be the decor and maybe inspiration.
Alas, 'not in my neighborhood' would be the refrain,
Trumpeted from negative elephants with fox fur berets!