Poetry Trips You Up

Like a step that isn’t there.

Like a satnav sending you 

to the wrong place, deliberately,

and you end up somewhere 

you didn’t know you wanted to be

(if that’s possible).

Like a hatstand for flamingoes.

Like a staircase without a house.

Like entering a house in one location

and exiting it at another,

and you can’t get back to where you were.

Like driving into a wall at eighty miles per hour,

which, on impact, turns out not to be there.

Like diving into a swimming pool,

only to find that you’ve jumped off a cloud.

Like wearing make-up for a sauna.

Thus, every mortal doth from himself flee.