Make of this as you will, some might say that the ball park changes, but never the game… who knows?
Each week The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “Wordle’s” 12 words. This week it is:
Back in the day, we would heave out our dead
through the kitchen door, puff up our chests,
open the front door, and let in the breezes and the light.
Back in the day, we would tell ’em
to stop their screeching,
quit the chatter, or else we’d reload.
Nowadays, they do it with something called files,
watching, what they say is, patterns and tendencies,
collecting up secrets like stuck fish in a net.
I ain’t no doctor, but, to me, the anatomy is the same.
They just operating on them bones differently.