Her bristles could be coarse––
animal hair,
wild boar or horse.
Rigid enough for divorce.
Porcupine quills,
shards of sea shells,
stone and thigh bone,
whatever he's got
to untangle a snarl,
untie a hard knot.
A paint brush––
she's ego-stroking.
tug and toking,
with intuition,
full-on knowing.
Drill holes in her handle,
sew in bristles,
but they won't stay.
There's no need for rushing
the fantasy of a
deep, delicious brushing.
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Prompt: Write a poem based on one of the curious headlines, cartoons, and other journalistic tidbits featured at Yesterday’s Print, where old new stays amusing, curious, and sometimes downright confusing. What a fun place to visit.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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