Friday, September 23, 2022

Roll The Peppermints

My eyes roll like peppermints, says Pierre Louis.

Keep going, says Arthur.

Yes I must keep going, says Pierre Louis. What rhymes with peppermints?

I'm not helping you, says Arthur. Find your own rhymes.

I'm quite proud of that line, though, says Pierre-Louis. It came from my heart.

Via your knees says Arthur. I suppose it's not bad.

Faint praise, says Pierre Louis. Is Jeanne Jugan any closer?

Arthur looks over his shoulder.

A black figure is approaching, with two bright yellow eyes.

More like a demon, says Arthur.

That's her, says Pierre-Louis. Does she have yellow eyes?

Yes, says Arthur. She didn't have yellow eyes in her kitchen.

It's her bicycle helmet, says Pierre-Louis. It's painted with two yellow eyes.

The yellow eyes get closer. 

Jeanne Jugan catches up.

I've been following trails of blood, says Jeanne Jugan. Whose is it?

Ours, says Pierre-Louis. We both rode into prickle bushes.

I wish I'd seen that, says Jeanne Jugan. I suppose you want ointment and plasters.

No, says Pierre-Louis. Arthur is teaching me to extract poetry from painful emotions. Listen to this: My eyes roll like peppermints.

Let me see, says Jeanne Jugan. If your eyes are rolling like peppermints, that means something is wrong. You may have concussion.

Pierre-Louis looks at her sideways.

His eyes are not rolling like peppermints. 

So it was just an expression, says Jeanne Jugan. 

A sincere one, says Pierre-Louis. Now I search for a rhyme.

A rhyme with peppermints, says Jeanne Jugan. Is your poem supposed to be funny?

No! snaps Pierre-Louis.

Then I suggest you bury your peppermints somewhere mid-line, says Jeanne Jugan Try a rhyme with roll, or one of the other words.

If he must have a rhyme, says Arthur.

True, says Jeanne Jugan. A rhyme is not necessary.

But Pierre-Louis is determined to come up with something original, but not funny, while retaining the peppermints, and a rhyme.

He is quiet. Then comes inspiration:


With the sharpness of peppermints roll my eyes

From my knees to the merciless skies.


He is pleased. 

Who needs a rhyme for peppermints, when one can come up with poetry like that?

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