It’s 1972….


Trumpets of frantic fluttering French plugholes,  corrupted my delicate cauliflower ears,
Got a thing about adding numbers to make years.

It was 1972 when I added 971 to 1001, 
my adding here is done.

Sun filled tortilla chips, merrily salsa around the dance floor,
Span the guacamole too fast and flew out the poem door.

1 added to 1975 seems to make 1976, ever played the random game of can you pick up sticks?

Yellow carpets dressing a dining room table,
Snap off the legs and make some horns if your strong and able.

1900 added to 47 makes 1947, catch the national express all the way to Devon.

I think I will end this rambling with a year to note,
A prophetic word, get a pen an paper as I will quote.

1900 plus 134 makes a year that will come too soon. 

2034 another man on the moon.

© C Webber 2017


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