In Consideration of Dandelions

“My poetry of late has been rather flowery,” I said.

My shadow nodded.

“I mean, I almost wrote about dandelions. How

banal is that,” I asked.

My shadow shrugged.

“I want to write something of substance,

of meaning, filled with soulful revelations

and creative insight,” I said.

My shadow nodded emphatically.

“Okay then, here’s goes…,” I said.

My shadow sat motionless against the

wall. Slightly leaning forward, waiting,

anticipating.

“So… there’s these dandelions right…,” I said.

My Shadow threw his arms up in the air.

“Right, right. No freaking dandelions,” I said.

My shadow acquiesced with relish.

“How about sexy ladies? Should I write about

sexy ladies,” I asked.

A slow upward shrug from my shadow, palms up.

“Dear sexy ladies,” I said.

My shadow slapped himself in the forehead.

“What, you’re an art critic now,” I asked.

My shadow put his hands on his hips and

turned his head up toward the heavens.

“Fine. No sexy ladies or dandelions. Sheesh,” I said.

My shadow nodded.

“So what should I write about,” I asked.

My shadow curled his thumb and gestured

to himself.

“You? A shadow? What’s interesting about you,”

I asked.

My shadow froze for a long moment. I heard a foot

tapping somewhere.

“Fine. What’s on your mind?”