MONDAY'S POET
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"How Buford got his groove back"
It really wasn't much of a sport. Buford was willing to give it a go anyway. If
for nothing else, for the sake of Pete.
Ready? One, two, three ... Go Buford go.
Fuzzy kittens scurried everywhere. Buford flopped and clumsily lunged toward the
nimble but simple fluff balls. His meaty hands came down hard on a black spotted
tabby.
"I gotchyou now mister kitty," Buford blurted.
A quick tug at his sagging Fruit of the Looms and "mister kitty" was
tucked away tight in Buford's cotton hell.
He was getting almost too good at this game. If only there were someone - anyone
else to witness Buford's triumph.
-- OddTodd Fan
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send me your poem, fiction. any kind. any style. anything.
and let me know how you'd like to be credited.