I tell ya, I was sitting in a little store,
A coffee shop, to be exact, deep in thought,
Searching for magic words to express a
A delightful image I held in my mind,
When the floor began to shake, to vibrate.
It seemed to let out echoing groans and
My coffeecup started a slow dance on the
Counter. My chair, a bar stool type, it
Bounced; my chair, it rocked. I was afraid
It might even roll.
My backside was jolted, it felt every
Reverberating footquake made by the ‘two-pack’
Of three years olds that thundered through the
Who was the creep,
That spoke of ‘the pitter-patter
Of little feet?’
That jerk had no children,
Or his floor was concrete.
Published in Moroccan Star Poetry