Poetry Friday

Not While You’re Living On My Roof


I’m glad that shingles can’t talk

or we’d all be kept awake at night

listening to their bickering.

“Get off me.” “You’re crowding me.”

“Why can’t we live on the North side of the roof?”

“That’s my spot.” “I’m hot.”

“We can’t all be peak shingles.”

“I’m cold.” “Stop complaining.”

“I think you’ve got a nail coming loose.”

“Overlap is pointless. Don’t you think it’s pointless?”

“It’s raining. I hate it when it rains.”

“You smell like tar.” “Go jump in a gutter.”



But I’d probably get used to it.