Tomorrow marks the 100th poem, the end of a poetic journey which seemed much longer back in July. Thus, today is the penultimate day, and I just can’t get over what to me is a ridiculously pompous word.
Once again we trot you out,
presager of triumph, crier for
others, never cried for. Sound
your trumpet! Herald 'The End'!
Tomorrow we shall rejoice,
we shall party, we shall bask
in the well-turned, diligent
task. Today, though, we need
someone to set up the tables,
the chairs. Thanks again—
your check's on the counter.
I wrote this on the penultimate
day of your penultimacy.
Couldn't be bothered to
mark the unremarkable.
99/100
100 poems in 100 days…the end is near.
Penultimate IS such a ridiculous word, and I love what you did with it here. You captured that feeling of the day before the day…the last things you must do to set up before it’s the day of and then the day after. I’ve often found days like that, Christmas Eve for example or the day before leaving for a trip, to be some of my absolute favorite. The anticipation is almost something you can taste, or feel on your skin. I think I may have had that feeling when I hobbled around the garden on this day before our challenge ended.
I note the word ‘hobbled’. Still got those issues I see. I hope you find some respite.
I just found out that I may be able to get surgery within 6 months (found out today). Which is huge! I’m so over hobbling, so it will be nice to have a fresh robot hip to walk into the next chapter of my life with.