Oh IronBoard Oh IronBoard

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

What say thee,

Upon thy iron platform?

That ply thy nimble fingers

Across woe’s KeyBoard

Upon a poets platform

Made for wrinkled cloth.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Thy wobbles

To and fro,

Leaning back ward

With poet’s weight

That must pull you

Level at time,

Or thy for sure,

Will fall over.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Thy is a cluttered mess,

Coffee cup with hot cocoa

Stains the rim crusty to day,

Maybe coffee rings to morrow.

Needles galore diabetics,

Pills, nail clippers, cell phone,

That seldom ever rings,

But alarms four times a day.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Cleaned you yester day,

But look at you to day.

Why thy is so cluttered,

Thy emulates my mind,

As wires recharge and print

To tango dance tangled feet.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Thy poetry’s platform

Does surf boards words

Upon a see shore wobble,

Wobble, wobble.

Wobbles in then out,

Wobbles left to right,

Making one see-sick

Writing mind’s waves.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Next to a poet’s bed,

A bed that seats buns

Upon slumping springs

Of a Queen mattress.

That slides one way

Into the floor

That did send a poet

Into thy IronBoard.

Oh IronBoard,

Did I hurt thee?

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

I had to bend thee

Back to shape,

And for a moment,

You were ready

To iron clothes.

But then

What poet does not

Have worn wrinkles

All over the place.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Thy has served me well.

But alas a desk cometh

For architectural minds.

And I will fold you away.

To fit back in

A closed closet.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

Come back another day,

When I need to iron,

My poet prune appearance

With a fountain of youth.

At least upon

Pressed rose clothes.

Oh IronBoard,

Oh IronBoard,

I love thee.

David Lester Young 05/12/2016