Bob lived in a castle in the clouds, when he was home
the clouds tinkled like zills on a bellydancers
fingers, when he was out the clouds did the Hustle
because Bob forbade it when he was home. Bob had invited me to tea and I was running late because the Uber driver was an octopus who kept stopping for stones & shiny objects & driving further & further away.
Finally, I flagged down a walrus who delivered me safely to the escalator where, up above, Lucy was glittering & twirling, eyes shooting bottles rockets & firecrackers, waiting to take me away. A flock of blackbirds between us were blocking the way, arguing with Rita the Meter Maid over their tickets to fly. I yelled, “Y’all can work it out!” as I pushed through, bursting through the cloud of black like the sun. Stepping off the escalator, before me was a yellow brick road. Lucy was gone but Glinda was there giving me a dirty look, saying you can find your own damn way there – she was pissed because in a previous poem I said she was never a REAL witch. Poof! She was gone.
On the winding road ahead I spied Bob walking Rocky. Wait! I yelled, I’ve been working like a dog to get here! Finally, we came together, entering his castle in the tinkling clouds (some were still furtively hustling) where Admiral Halsey served us tea and butter pie.
(I really wanted marshmallow.)

*****

Napowrimo Day 21 prompt: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like The Color of Pomegranates and “City That Does Not Sleep,” incorporates wild, surreal images. Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic.”

A couple of years ago I had a dream about having lunch with Bob Dylan and I wrote a short flash about it. This is a  more surreal version. I decided to let Glinda have some payback, just for fun.