Banjo Creek

Grandpa loved to fish and would rise when the sun did.
He’d take his wooden pail and walking stick.
In turtle pace, he’d plod down Longman’s Trail to Banjo Creek.
One morning, reaching the water’s edge, he spied a fish on the bank.
Upon closer inspection, he was gravely mistaken.
It was no fish but rather, a pale and severed hand.
It was remarkably smooth; no foul odor or decay.
The manicured nails and slender fingers were those of a lady.
Removing a crisp hanky from his pocket,
 he wrapped it gently, and then within the pail, he tucked it.

7 thoughts on “Banjo Creek

  1. Thanks for the fun opportunity to visit, D! I was excited to start my first blog last month and very much appreciate how you open your door to us, wary newcomers. Would love for you to crash at my place someday, too. I’m just a newbie, guys, so thanks for being kind 🙂 xo, Rose


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