Leap Year

By Mike Bell Poetry No comments

That gift of three hundred
and sixty-five
handwritten notes

I sealed inside
separate envelopes by
my spit-worked lips

and ink-numbered them
by my pen-curled fingers
They were a year’s reading

Few were opened up
And I
never took account

of your leap years
or your reversals
or your taking advantages

So my short works
are now fiction
yet to be finally read

Mike Bell Poetry

Mike Bell aims to write 10,000 poems, stick them up here one at a time, and then take a nap. By then he should be about 85 years old and have out-gunned PD, dementia, and the end of days. Possibly. Before the floods and fires. Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.

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